Stolen
by AKimiB
Summary: 'Happily ever-after' isn't always the case... Or is it? Renaissance/medieval-type Alternate Universe, rated M for future content. Older Sofia/Cedric. IN PROGRESS
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Author's Note: ****This is, in fact, an Adult!Sofia story. Since I will later be getting into some more mature themes with our dashing older sorcerer Cedric, I felt it necessary to move things as naturally and ungross as possible. ALSO, in this fic, a medieval/renaissance-esque era will be showcased (as in, not totally historically accurate in speech and customs), as that's just kind of where my mind went for this plot... There will be a distinct lack of some things in favor of it having just been the over-active imagination of a child AND please pay attention to my 'tense's,' I will most likely go back and forth in memory and present-day like that in order to save time and get on with the flow without the pesky italics button. So, ...I do it for a reason.**  
**That being said, I AM still new to writing (a human that makes mistakes, as well) and would love any feedback! If you have flames, please fan them into the form of constructive criticism like a reasonable adult, I would very much appreciate it!**

**Chapter 1:**

Her reflection stared back, as the world seemed to dim from all around until the image no longer looked the same, but a stranger stuck in the same place. In a sense, this is kind of true. The past few years has sped around in a tumultuous blur, and Sofia can almost no longer distinguish herself from the person she now is from the girl she used to be. This was all just a bad dream, right? The waking world is right around the corner, tauntingly stretching this nightmare out past it's norm, turning weeks into minutes and years into hours? Any minute, her oceanic orbs will open to the morning light, and she'll be her newly-adult self once again. An eighteenth year to the very day, a reason to celebrate, to be festive and just happy to be alive; unlike what really happened.

She can recall the feelings as if it just happened moments before. The confusion and frantic overwhelming anxiety as the dreaded chirps and squeals of her beloved friends rang out clamorously, nonsensically.

At first, she slapped at her heaving chest, where the amulet lay, nestled in the warmth of her skin. She had gripped it, tears stinging at clear crystal eyes that darted every which way, searching in vain for something she did wrong. For some writing on the wall, a message telling of her misdeed that lead to such a curse. But no, the room remained in stasis, eerily quiet beyond the hopeless calls of her animal comrades.

Everything about the day had started off off, following a fitful, dreamless sleep. There was no turn-down service from Baileywick, nor was there the company of Sofia's handmaiden. There was nothing but blinding, blistering sun beating in on her sweat-sticky skin and an over-abundance of suffocating bedding and anguish at the lacking translation of those the brunette held dear.

She didn't bother to dress, too frazzled by all the happenings and not, her feet carried the girl briskly across fresh threshes and the glinting stone beneath, padding on plush carpet where ever it was afforded. No one turned a head, nor lent a hand, not even a "Good morning, Princess," was given, which, in and of itself, was unheard of.

Having checked every room along the way; Amber, James, her mother and father, servant's quarters, even the dungeonous spire that had long been vacated upon the sorcerer's forced resignation. No one, that could tell the teen anything, could be found, so she moved onward with peeks into the kitchens and dining areas until only one was left: the throne room.

Rubbing a stitch in her side, she took deep breaths, easing the air in and the ache out. Yet, what was this, this heaviness that settled into her bosom? She's just looking for her family, wanting answers...? One determined respiration and a set brow propelled dainty naked feet onward, soft hands gliding habitually against the rough wall working to steady the brunette enough to turn the corner leaving just enough space to thrust the massive, thick-planked door, walking into a scene that will forever haunt her mind.

Still lost in the memory, a single tear slips from her stinging eyes, dry and irritated with her staring contest with this dirtied stranger in the broken mirror. Fixed, but only seeing the past, her breaths are shallow, slender throat poised to fight down pitiful sobs that she will no longer let escape, still, chilly, calloused fingertips wind absently from the splintering wood to the vulnerable space at her collarbone, the skin there still longing to feel the peace the missing jewel used to provide.

One of the first things Sofia had noticed upon entering that daunting room was the pity in Baileywick's eyes as he turned to investigate the creaking barrier. It didn't make sense back then, the look in those kind, wrinkled orbs. One that seemed to scream apologies a hundredfold, blasting her further into befuddlement. Thin chestnut brows knitted, a questioning frown had pulled at her full lips, and onward she walked, studying the steward, almost not wanting to see what his eyes pleaded with her not to witness.

But, alas, her curiosity had gotten the better of the girl, and her gazed grazed the room, sweeping over the many grand tapestries that hung from the walls, how bright the rich fabrics shone under the unfettered, unfiltered light. The gorgeous stained glass had been replaced by simple bars, clear of the loving family portrait that once resided there. Lips parting, her jaw slackened, slow motions clouded her senses and the young adult could not investigate quick enough. Each stony pore, every curving line of grout, each highlight and low, all of it seemingly committing itself to her very core as tortuously her vision dropped to three thrones, three people sitting, one kneeling upon the thinly be-rugged dais. The way soft feminine shoulders shook beneath silken finery, an unbefitting position of any woman of high enough position to own such clothes.

And then it clicked. Her mother. Why is her mother crying? Suddenly, everything was moving too quickly, or maybe that was the jostling run the blue-eyed girl had broken into in order to comfort the woman on the floor. It took only moments for Sofia to get there, falling to her knees painfully and gathering her sputtering mother within her thin embrace.

"Shh," she had whispered to her mother, "shhh. It's going to be alright, everything is going to be okay." Her own form began to shake, whether it was uncertainty, or fear of such, she still isn't sure, but her trembling fingers began to comb through the elder woman's long, dark tresses, much like she had always done for Sofia.

Miranda was gasping at oxygen that painful rasping sobs would not allow. Salt from tears dried caked and slicked with sorrow that was still running in waterfalls down her flushed cheeks. The moisture seemed to make it even more difficult to breath, and every pull became even more laborious, rapid backward screams. The teen tucked her parent under her chin, pressing her head to her chest so that the woman could hear her heartbeat, Sofia hoped it would be enough to calm her.

"Mom? I'm here, it's alright. Everything will be alright." The younger female couldn't focus on anything but the heart-wrenching sounds coming from her mother, and when she was finally lulled, the girl kept holding the woman yet looked to the others in the room, waiting for something, anything to be offered as explanation.

Amber's namesake-colored orbs remained floorward, a mask of golden hair trying to cover the worrying of her pink lips, James eyes stayed clenched shut, some emotion painting his flaxen, halo-rimmed rounded face with red as her father watched on in a startlingly cold detachment.

"Dad?" The word passed her lips with out thought, a name that now hurts to say, so Sofia just doesn't any longer. He had just looked on, the silence was deafening, his frigid scrutiny a foreign thing that felt filthy against her barely clad flesh. A few more moments passed of this dead air before she dared try again. "Da-"

"Please refrain from calling me as such, Sofia." He boomed with a haughty sophisticated air, cutting the girl off and making her jump. The brunette strengthened her hold on Miranda, pulling her ever closer as she cocked her head in hurt query. The blonde King drew up to full sitting height, regal strappings and medals aglow, intimidating with his grip on the throne's arms whitening his knuckles. "Certain circumstances have come about in which Miranda and yourself will no longer be recognized as members of our royal family."

What exactly did this mean? How could this be? What had gone so wrong that her father was looking at them that way? What ever the answer, Sofia knew that she didn't like it. Warmth scalded her lids, vision swaying with a sheet of unshed tears threatening their spill, but still, she carried on strong, hoping to soak up the information he would grant her. The man, Roland II, was the king, after all. His word, no matter the way her will blew, was law. And it was this, the brunette figured, broke the dam, as he sighed, dropping posture ever-so-slightly in order to rub a palm over weary puffed eyes.

"I," Previously commanding tone faltered in crackles, the regal man cleared his throat, stifling what ever pent up rivaling ethic warring within." I have a duty to my kingdom, before family. And as such, I need you both to understand, treaties running thin and challengers to my throne abroad, my subjects need to be able to put their faith in me to lead them. They need a healthy, tenacious chieftain in such an uncertain time." Not really understanding what Roland's tirade had to do with her mother and self, she continued to listen, closing her eyes, soaking up the warmth of her mother and the pacifying circles her thin fingers massaged into the girl's back.

"Cedric isn't here to fix this." It was barely above a whisper, but it gripped her heart like a vice and she couldn't help the sarcastic spit that fired from behind her grinding teeth as she glowered at the throned majesty.

"Of course he isn't! Did you expect the man to stick around after you sent him away in mockery! Telling him to apprentice under others, colleagues of his same year! You know, a little faith and a lot less pressure would have gone a long way," Pausing, she took a deep breath, "...Your highness. It's the same with all of the neighboring kingdoms, and you just don't see. Some bridges aren't supposed to burn, though you seem to be in a blaze frenzy! Just... Just tell me one thing. Just one thing, and then we'll do anything you ask of us." Narrowed in on him and impatient, Sofia hummed in annoyance.

"Please, go on." Roland bowed, waving for the girl to continue.

"What exactly did you do that needed fixing from a man that you mistakenly forced from the castle that is so important for you not to be seen as faulty?" The king's gaping maw would have been comical, had this pain not ached and the loss of a great teacher not left a hollow in her soul, Jaw set, Sofia awaited the accused's word.

"I don't know how to answer this in a way that you could ever understand."

"Enlighten me, Your Majesty."

"There is to be one born of royal blood in regular gestation's time." The girl gasped, looking down at deep pools of watery sky of her mother so like her own, the woman shook her head, 'no.' "And both women now house a nuisance that has long been taken care of with the last stock of potions brewed by Goodwin, before his passing." A lip caught between straight teeth, the king gave way to a frustrated silence. "Blood is everything, even in this day in age. And, I'm sorry to say, potion is limited."

The dumb look stretched across her face must have been gargantuan, for all it took was a mere moment for Miranda to switch positions, rearing up and crushing Sofia's numbly limp frame to her own.

"The baby and," stopping to sniffle and regain her voice, the former queen's shaky timbre continued, " i-i-it's mother come first. It really is okay, honey. You're right."

Blank, Sofia recalls as she blinks back to that cracked mirror, there is no other way to describe the way it feels when the securely fortified happy little world your loved one's build up for you comes crashing down with the fragility of glass. Back then, it's all her body would recognize. As if the careful calligraphy of the finest book were dipped in acid, wiping every page clean. Blank.

She stared, unseeing, as all of the happy memories began to wash away, the royalty became nothing but a dream and that moment became nothing but lame parchment.

"W-W..." Sofia bit her lips, willing for sound to join the words she was trying to form. "What 'nuisance' has he left you with, Mom?" It was a weak, airy little question, and she couldn't bear to look at that man any longer, but she had to know, had to understand, needed to be able to listen to something from someone she could trust.

"Syphilis, Honey." Her sure words had sent the girl reeling, nausea burrowed deep in her stomach and her chest hurt. How could the man that she called 'father' deceive mother like this? Marry her without giving the woman this knowledge, and then shatter fidelity, risking the lives of all involved with him? How could he just leave Miranda to suffer this disease, to eventually die?

As if her mother could read her thoughts, whether or not is was easy, she's not sure, maybe the woman could tell by her face, she smiled a wobbly smile. That strong simper that carried them both through her biological father's passing and supported them even when they worked in the village for days at a time with not a chance to sleep. "No, no. It really is okay. King Roland II gave me a small portion of his potion, so it should hold off the effects for a little while at least. You really don't need to worry, sweetheart. But, the future new queen and child need the rest, far more than I. That child should have a chance to live, wouldn't you agree." The elder brunette kept smiling that smile, nodding with every word and Sofia knew it was to convince herself, too. Those honest cerulean pools couldn't lie.

The rest of that day ran smudged and smeared within her memory bank, wordless packing and preparation, burning pity being scorched into her skin by household staff and the ones the brunette called family. Though, what singed and stung most was not the love-longing gaze of those no longer able to associate, but the distant coolness of her beloved Baileywick. That grandfather-esque man with the kind heart and giving nature, no longer speaking with the girl. His silvery hair and glinting spectacles zipped around, staying far from she and the former queen, most likely a purposeful avoidance. Though, their things had been packed with great care, efficiently, she guessed that that would be his final service to them.

And it was. Only few, with the exception of their small fleet, came to see them off. Amber, James... Voices stolen to emotion, their words still to present day, break Sofia's heart.

"I wish it wouldn't have ended like this, Sofia." The blonde's way of saying, I'm sorry that you had to be built up and knocked down. I'm sorry that you had to get used to this life and have it snatched away. I wish you would have ended your stay here with a marriage, whisked away to a beautiful castle with the prince of your dreams, as we so often chatted about. You deserve better.

"If I would have known,... I thought you both would have lasted..." A young king-in-waiting, using the least words to convey his guilt over not having married already. For not taking the lead seat and allowing both to stay, for not providing cover to this scandal. A silent promise that he'd make sure things return to some sense of normalcy upon his ascension to king. That this wasn't really a farewell, and that he'd fix this. All of it. The girl gave him a knowing smile, bowing her head in deep respect for him, for the both of them.

It wasn't much of a goodbye, but when you have been born into royalty, when that is the place that you belong and you are parting ways with those that were never meant to share a throne in your castle, the brunette guessed that their sentiments were above and beyond any that should have been offered. With one last look back at the shimmering towers and tall decorated walls, the faces that held determination and sorrow, Miranda and Sofia stepped into their plain covered carriage, sitting on the thin cushions of hard wooden seats, awaiting the driver to take them both away into the anonymous night, to the foreign outskirt land that was ready for them. A place that no one knew who they were.

A place for them to be left and for all that knew their faces and loved their presence, to forget them in time. It seemed to work.

It hadn't been too bad, sent on the way with everything they had gained in gifts through the years; Jewels, fine toys, dresses... their crowns had been combined and melted down at the castle forge in order to remain in disconnect from Enchancian royalty, a single, light bar of halved silver and gold was all that was left of their regal headware. How such a small amount of precious metal could be used to craft such elaborate pieces still baffles the mind, but as always, it's of no real consequence.

It took all of the supplies and three weeks of nighttime travel to reach their destination, daytime guards breaking off to triple back in order to throw anyone off of their trail, and they made it to the farming village as the pastel blues, purples and pinks of dawn dusted thatched roofs and many orchards. Thanks to previous agreement, a barn and inn had been erected, along with many other buildings, animals had been sent and visiting merchants now had a hall in which to gather in hopes to boost economy. As sickening the thoughts of King Roland II had made Sofia, he really was a smart ruler, if only a bit pig-headed and testosterone driven.

They had settled in a room at the inn, their things taking up a large portion of floor space which had left them both enough room for a chamber pot, bed, vanity, bathing basin and a small stove, each within few paces from the other. But that was okay, Sofia really didn't want to be too far from her mother, anyway. The older woman needed her, Sofia was old enough to take on some of the emotional burden, to let the elder brunette confide if she so needed. Though, Miranda never did. Whether it was a thin veil of pride that the woman wanted to keep intact or the ache of betrayal she wanted to bury, the girl didn't know... But she would give support and allow her to mourn.

Pressing her palms to the grain of the rickety vanity, Sofia rises to a stand, taking in the small wooden room of chipping dull beige paint and cold concrete floors. The rushes need to be changed out with fresher ones, something that can be done in the morning, she notes mentally. Not much has really changed since their first night and now, they have gained space and lost items. As is the way of trading when work is scarce and funds are low.

The beautiful intricate gowns of colored lace and fine dyed silks had gone one by one, providing them ongoing lodging as week by week the traveling vendor stopped in town to trade and pay. Each week they'd see off a piece of their past life, bittersweet as the coins jingled inside of their rough pockets and their small stomachs gave rumble. Onward the man would gallop, on horseback as the cart disappeared over the horizon, the wares to be sold to many unnameable places.

Settling down, brown locks tucked away from her face by a simple cloth much like her poppy smock, Sofia snuggles into the warmth of her sleeping mother. The mattress crumpling beneath as parchment and poultry feathers give way for the girl's weight. Miranda mumbles incoherently mid-slumber and Sofia nuzzles deeper, a breathy chuckle on her lips.

"Good night, mom. I love you, too."

~O~O~O~

Cool as the night was, it passed with warmth as both had inched closer to the other in the grasp of pleasant unconsciousness. Only in dreams does the worry of livelihood pass in place of serenity and imagination, something that has slowly faded from the waking world day by day. In slumber, horses really could fly, safely catapulting Sofia's younger dream-entity into the clouds to take in many glittering cities and kingdoms as they flew over vast oceans, scaling mountains with silent hoof beats. She could allow herself to lose base with reality in wonderment... Until it ends and her eyes groggily widen to the first soft rays of morning's light.

Usually dank with an underlying odor of mold, in bold contrast, the room smells amazing. The rich aroma of fresh savory spices and salted meat wafts in, invading her senses. Without thought, she's already wandering to the small alcove where the little stove lay.

Clinks of metal and wood sound, Miranda gives the pot a good stir before sliding the heat-controlling plate farther into it's slot carefully, so not to char the pot's contents. Looking over her slim shoulder, noticing the drooling girl watching her every move, she smiles, turning to capture her daughter in her embrace.

"Happy birthday, Sofia!" Softly, her lips tickle the girl's neck as she speaks into her hair, giving a quick peck to her cheek as she pulls away to continue her cooking. "It's almost done, but would you mind gathering some water from town? I didn't quite get enough."

That's right... that's today, isn't it? So, it's been two whole years already? Sofia nods to the humming woman before slipping on shoes, gathering her pail and bag, opening the musky, dark, splintered barrier to the bustling little town. The cobbled pavement meets with the steps as she descends the short stair, onward in practiced trek to the village's well.

Sheep and goats bleat from beyond the bordering fences as chickens roam freely, pecking at the ground for scraps and seeds that got lost along farmers' trails. Kids laugh, chasing each other around trees and hiding behind walls, Sofia can't help but smile at the simplicity of this pure happiness. Where these kids and animals, their parents and caretakers all live in a circle of tight reliance upon one another. Trust that runs so deeply, they don't worry, they just live for the sake of living.

Stone-ringed and just a little wet, she approaches the cool basin, attaching the handle to the dangling rope and placing the cleanest rock available inside, lowering the pail. As it sinks, Sofia looks around yet again. Living among these wonderful people has been nice, in the most positive light that can be mustered. But she doesn't belong, witnessing their faith in one another, it's lovely to see, but that feeling has left her. No longer is she able to put stock in another, aside from Miranda. No longer does she belong in a castle, and no longer is she a girl of the village. Then where?

With trained hands, the bucket is lifted upon the twine and she busies herself to untying the knot. Brushing stray auburn strands from her brow, she puffs, gathering strength enough to carry the heavy container steady through the maze of clucking poultry and zooming children, up the creaking steps and to the door of this familiar room. Opening it just enough to unload her burden, Sofia calls out into the abode.

"I'll be back! I'm going to gather fresh flooring, okay?" Without waiting for further word, she shuts the entrance and hurries off down to the opposite end of town. Miranda, hearing the door click shut, shakes her head, lips tugged in a tight line between a grimace and sad smile. A knowing expression that her daughter has never seen.

Sofia arrives at the field, it's campy fragrance making the girl's nose itch as she unflattens the bag at her side, holding it open for it's new bristling occupants. Brown hair falling into her concentrated face, she runs knowledgeable fingertips along each thin stalk, feeling for its dryness and durability, placing ones that pass inspection quickly into the large scratchy sack. Soon enough, it grows heavy, rebellious branchings sticking out of the bag's cloth and poking her in the sides. She takes it all in stride, the vexing pinches no longer truly bothering her as she trots past the gate, back into the heart of the growing village. Back to that inn, where her mother is her heart and also her home.

Only slightly out of breath, the estranged princess bursts through the door, eager to clean up the rotting rushes, to be rid of their stench and unpleasant slime. Her broom moves quick, hands even quicker, tossing the offensive weeds into the outside world, where an animal will make quick use of them, either for food, bed, or removing the fresh mint smell a farmhand used to cleanse them with.

Clover would have loved it. He always did like to nibble on the trash-bits, napping in it's softness once his fill had been had. Sofia looks out, past the town well and into the rolling hills where he spent his last silent days, comforting her with nuzzles that he knew she would understand, even without the power of animalistic translation. Closing her eyes and gently sliding closed the door, she leans against it, allowing a respectful moment of silence for the friend that followed her out of everything they both knew.

Sighing, her hands digging deep into the pregnant satchel, she pulls, throws and spreads. Pull, throw, spread. Pull... throw... Lips quivering, the sack hangs limply at her hip, and she feels arms wrap around her middle, lips on her temple.

"I'll finish it. Go eat, baby." Sofia leans into her mother, soaking in her warmth and the sweet scent that seemed to follow her from riches to poverty, her scent. Breathing deeply, it lulls her, and she pastes on her own cheerful smile, cricking over enough to catch the corner of those honest blue eyes and nods gratefully.

"Yes ma'am!" Miranda giggles at the girl's new-found enthusiasm, pulling the strap from her shoulder as she ducks over to the bedding, where a bowl of warm stew lay in wait for her eager consumption. Should she tell her? Let her know so that she may prepare for the inevitable? Or... would that just make everything harder for her? The former queen ponders as the pleasant layers of flooring is spread to perfection. One thing is certain... Not today. Any day but today.

Brushing her palms of remaining debris, her long chestnut locks falling in oily waves at her back and sides, she admires their work with a small hum of approval before claiming her spot at Sofia's side, grabbing her own bowl and spoon. They sip at the rich fat-laden broth, letting it coat their throats as it works to rid the small chill from their bodies, warming them both from the core on, inviting health, wellness, ultimately happiness.

In this moment, with her daughter at her side, that lovely smile spread across gorgeous rounded cheeks and her innocent eyes telling Miranda of this simple bliss, the former queen makes a silent wish for her little girl's birthday.

Let Sofia never have to hurt because of her ever again, let life sweep her up in a love that can erase the pain she's endured... Let her never be afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve, as she did when she was young... and let the man or woman that brings her all of this, protect it, fight for it, and praise it, holding it high with the sacrecy it deserves. Simply, she wishes for Sofia to smile again, full of light and love, like she used to be.

~O~O~O~

"CA-CAW! CA-CAWWW!"

"My dearest friend, Wormwood... Please find it in your bleak little heart," Silvery bangs dangle, barely whispering against an aged yellow page as he leans into the scripture, the man speaks lightly into the binding, marking the next paragraph with a lithe finger to turn toward the pair of noisy ebony ravens, "to CONTROL YOUR SPAWN!"

Turning back to the old novel, lit by flickering candles' flames, he huffs, willing patience to settle frazzled nerves and the many answers spurring his search to jump from the fragile parchment. Cedric has done this for so long, holed up in an abandoned cellar with only candles and annoyingly squawking fowls to keep him company, his honey brown eyes may just be stuck in a state of dilation. If it weren't for these birds, he may have passed long ago, lushly drinking up the stock of aged wine a bite of anything except the dried, salted fish strung up in lines.

He blinks weary orbs, lifting his aching neck and rubbing at the tight knots with creaky lithe hands. Maybe he needs some fresh air. Far too much time has passed, he guesses a change of scenery may lead to something other than disappointing dead ends and hung-over heartburn. Suppressing a shudder, he presses up from the small stool, his knees let off unappealing pops and cracks, and looks at the shelf serving as a makeshift desk skeptically before turning to his quietly twittering feathered companions. They go silent as his gaze falls upon them and he quirks one thin, jet brow.

"What?" The sorcerer had to ask, two sets of beady birdy eyes reflecting dim light, casting shadows to look like narrowed lids in crackling silence is... unnerving.

The youngest of the two ravens gives a strained crow, stretching out it's gullet as it's feathers puff, raising almost intimidatingly. And then, in a stringy white-green line, he defecates.

"COME ON!" Squealing with appalled horror in the most manliest of ways, the man scrunches his defined aristocratic nose, closing an eye at the disgusting pile as his other beseeches the eldest bird. "SHOW YOUR BEAST PROGENY SOME SORT OF COMMON COURTESY AT LEAST!" His digit-revealing gloved hand points toward a dark corner where a crude pewter bucket sits.

"Caa caa caa." Both fowls seem to chuckle at the silver streaked noirette's distress and he gives up, rolling amber orbs at the utter hopelessness of cellar-training.

"Well then, let's be off. I'm sure you both are relieved not to be running supply operations, yeah?" With that, his long legs stretched with each small stride, straightening out from their sit-stiffness as he traversed the hard-soiled floor to the carved-rock steps leading to wooden flap, barred doors hiding sunshine and the busy life of the village beyond.

With the flick of his wrist, the sorcerer plucks an expertly carved wand from the fold of his robes, swiping an arch in the air almost violently. Heavy is the metal latch that slides from the lock in perfect synchronization with the swinging of the planks that bang clamorously against the ground outside as Cedric makes his ascent into the brisk, cool wind of the world above.

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?" Slugswamp whispers to his father, in the form of garble to the human ear, he ruffles his sleek inky feathers before flapping after the man's retreating form.

"You have no idea." Wormwood caws, hopping from the highest shelf in free-fall before spreading his long wings to follow. "At least he's gotten better with time."

Chatter of fabric merchants and blacksmiths fill the air as their many customers haggle for the lowest bargain. Babies wail in their mother's sturdy arms as they juggle their shopping in baskets and the loud, squirmy bundles. Children run, laughing and playing amidst the street corners and shop-keeps yell out warnings about breaking their wares. Cedric purses his lips at the unruly, distasteful conduct, but breathes deep the refreshing oxygen that is both sweet and clean, unlike the stale, dusty stagnant atmosphere he had been cloaked in for...years.

Grip tight on the smooth surface of his wand, hidden well by loose midnight violet robes, he passes many stalls in an even pace, taking advantage of the space with a straight back and squared shoulders. A nudge to the left here, a flick to the right there, his eyes give off nothing but a stalwart stare forward. Would he be successful? He needn't worry about that now. Only time will tell if practice has paid off. But that doesn't stop echoes of voices past from nagging at his brain.

"You've failed yet again... Such a pity."

"What did I really expect from you?"

"It seems you can't even complete the simplest of tasks, Cedric."

"I need someone more accomplished to stand on my court, Cedric. I'm afraid your orders are to 'desist' until you have been reformed under an actual sorcerer."

Teeth gnashing against one another beneath lips pressed into a taut line, a low growl brews in the man's throat. There is no room for second guessing, no slack in his thirty one years growth for nerves to discombobulate broiled intention. No, self-conscious deprecation reigned over this body from the tender ages of three, when his parents thrust him into day-in day-out training, straight into maturity at twenty-one when that bastard of a king sent Cedric off in mockery, amelioration be damned! Knuckles so tight against carefully burnished wood, he jerks the magical baton as the trio passes a portly man bearing a wicker basket of sugared rolls.

His bright, burnt-honey pools narrow as the trek turns into a charged stomp, the paved cobbled path beneath becoming loose stones, the solidarity lessens gradually into packed soil and rolling green hills enter the sorcerer's vision. Tall emerald grass sways against his socked calves as a gentle breeze gusts, almost pushing the man's lithe frame toward a towering tree, with the help of his billowing robe acting as a pseudo-sail. He stumbles only slightly, his free arm juts out quickly to catch the thick trunk, it's giving bark rough enough to dig in, though soft enough to cushion. Cedric lets out a sigh, releasing the tree to sit, nestling into a nook in it's large surfaced roots as he swats the silver and black strands from his face.

King Roland II's message was a humiliating one, infuriating,... discouraging. Though having had a lifetime of both triumph and failure, a royal announcement of the latter really was too much. Familial pride had spurned sorcerer's of the neighboring kingdoms, and off Cedric had set to rework himself in order to better plan his take over by obtaining the Amulet of Avalor.

At first, the streaked noirette had taken to the forest, across the moat's rushing waters and into the deep brush, where alchemic ingredients were plentiful and elbow room was abundant. After many a week, Cedric had come to realize every potion had proved unsuccessful and every spell a dud when it came to breaching the castle's defenses. He tried to go over the walls, finding he was terrified of heights. Concentration blown, he had been dropped into the water without so much as a glimpse over the outermost barrier. The potion version of such proved too successful, floating far past the clouds with no control in his directional pull.

Invisibility was a great attempt, but it was far too fleeting an effect, running out before he could walk half-way onto the drawbridge, even quicker still, the spell which would work only if Cedric were looking in a mirror. Otherwise, he ended up with a vanishing nose for about twenty seconds... Which was horrifying.

More attempts had followed and with them, further he slunk in on himself. The man gave in, trying to find a suitable place to study, desperately searching for sanctuary far from the village of Dunwitty, where they knew of his situation and taunted him, jeering the man from the many inns and taverns out into the open roads.

Scratching alerts the sorcerer to his companions' perch on the branches above as they dig in and release, like one would settle into a seat on an unfamiliar piece of furniture. Elderly birdy Wormy and his dimwitted son are getting antsy to see the day's prizes, it seems. Giving an audible sigh, half exaggerating his irritation, his fingers pluck the dark wooden wand from his robe, the right words playing throughout his mind as he gracefully traces the correct symbol in the air, the rune lighting a transparent flicker of orange until completion, turning into a cold blaze that disappeared leaving nothing but his boons drifting down with a weightlessness in it's wake.

Eyes widening, the man takes inventory of pilfered treasures, his lips curling in self-satisfaction as the birds call happily, flailing inky black wings while falling to attack their share of rolls. This act may have been naught but few parlor tricks, but he pulled through, a complete success amidst an entire town full of witnesses. It's a step toward the right direction... Enchancia's castle.

Has Cedric has improved enough to gain back the title 'Royal Sorcerer?' Maybe. He grins, closing bright amber to let out a dazed sigh. All of the travel, hiding and starvation, tests upon his patience and endurance... Maybe it had been worth it. Could he return now? Would this be of that king's liking? Oh, how easy it would be to swipe that amulet now, residing in his beloved spire stocked with only the finest for the noirette's mystical concoctions and... so close to her.

"What would she be like, now?" He ponders the question aloud in a drawled hush. Wormwood perks at the sound, swallowing the remaining flakes greedily. Having had only three years with the little brunette he can only hope that her interest in the magical arts hasn't been relieved by way of some other... hobby. Involuntarily his body gives a little shiver, the thought was a bit too despicable. Though in truth, it has been a long decade. Through the eyes of such a, daresay, precocious young idealist, anything would be an opportunity and could have swept her away from the subject within the absence.

"No matter." Really, it's just a matter of ease. But to be under the same roof should be enough. "I will get that amulet." Sight opening to the brilliant blue sky once more, he moves, shifting to indulge himself to the town bakery's finest. "Poseidon's pumpkins! You two couldn't leave me a bite at least ?!"

Hecklish squawks as the streaked noirette's only response, he settles for a bladder of sweet citrus water. Giving off a delectably hollow 'thunk' as the cork is pulled, Cedric raises the hard stitched-leather container to his lips, gulping down the cool refreshment. It rinses his throat of it's stickiness, banishing the torrid state and washing the tenseness of dehydration from the sorcerer's mind.

"What ya think he's gonna do?" Slugswamp clicks, surveying the ground for any stray edibles. Wormwood cocks his sleek ebony head, a rumbling growl puffing the bird's feathers before he flies the short distance from grass to branch. Silently reeling over whether or not that was a serious question.

"The same as always." Finally the elderly raven clucks, exasperated, a hint of worry tugging at his rapidly beating little heart. Maybe he hadn't chosen well enough? This immature fowl still has a long way to go. There was still so much to teach, so much of importance... Would he be able to train his replacement in time? He could feel it in his hollow bones and has been noticing the luster of his feathers has been dulling. Should he have chosen a bigger egg to take under his wing? Had he handled the fragile little thing a bit too roughly upon it's snatching? His sharp sideways eyes blink away the sun's rays as he forces down his feelings of regret. It's not over yet.

As Wormwood opens his little orbs, one taking in the site below, his fears begin to dissolve with every excitable peck and it's vying refusal.

"C'mon! I caught it for you!"

"Thank you, but I don't eat worms, Swampy."

"Open up, you towering, bony behemoth!"

"OW!"

"Sayyyyyy 'AHHHHH'!"

"GAH! MERLIN'S MUSHROOMS, SLUGSWAMP! I DO NOT EAT WORMS!"

Wormy chuckles, a ragged coo escaping his broad breastplate of thinning down. "Nah. He'll be fine."

~O~O~O~

With nothing but his feathered companions in the sky, clothes at his back, satchel at his shoulder and heavy ancient tome curled protectively at his chest, Cedric set off on the beaten dirt road toward the magnificence of Enchancia. No matter that it has been years since he has been so active, the strenuous trek is fueled by something far beyond physical. It is a fiery will that burns deep in the slender man's gut, pride's electricity that jolts throughout every vein pulsing vibrantly, it's dark sort of excitement pushing his lithe limbs to the very limit. Mostly, it is want that drives the streaked noirette, clouding his mind of the painful shocks at his shins and the stabbing at his calves and ribs as stoops, inns, residences and fences pass in peripheral obscurity.

Oh how he yearns to enter that court with his expertise in ancient runes, smoothly drawing them out mid-air as his word breathes life into things that only exist in that daft king's wildest dreams. Yes, he would show him... All of them. And soon, they will be on their knees bowing to King Cedric the Great! Out of breath, he manages to laugh, clutching his beloved book ever-close.

His lungs are cold, they feel so dry it's like they itch and he can't scratch the blasted torturous area. He hacks, coughing with both too much and not enough vigor, multiplying the spasms in bodily dissatisfaction. A hand leaves the leather-bound heirloom to grip his knee as the man doubles over, letting the whoops run their course.

"What now?" Minutely panicked, Slugswamp lands to watch his human's struggle. The other bird just sighs in response, landing to rest his wings.

"You okay, Mister?" Ears deaf to the rapid footfalls of this person as he runs up, Cedric waves him back a bit. The tavern-keep doesn't heed Cedric's motions, already at the pitiful sorcerer's side with a palm whacking his back and a metal cup of water being shoved in his face. He settles down after a few moments, sipping the liquid gingerly as his lungs try to seize some more until they stop and he can breathe freely once more.

"Uh... Erm...Yes, yes. Many thanks." Antsy to get going, he mumbles his appreciation to the apron-clad, older gentleman before returning the dented mug with a shove, scuttling off in the direction of the dazzling cerulean horizon.

"Yeah," bushy achromic brows knitting in skepticism, the man grumbles, flapping an age-flushed, meaty hand in dismissal, "..sure, kid." A plume of dust accompanies the sudden flight of the two inky birds as they hurry to follow Cedric into his journey's inception. The proprietor flinches at the noisy hassle and he whirls to send the trio a glare before ducking back into his empty establishment.

This is going to be a very long walk, ambition be damned, it can't really help with atrophied muscles aside from random spurts of adrenaline that numb the limbs. All of this becomes incredibly apparent as woods turn to plains and back to forestry again, the day dwindling down to a gradient golden-orange being engulfed by night fall; Even more so when the exhausted sorcerer makes his camp out of rocks and twigs, enchanting the brush around to weave delicately into a tent and sheet as a simple flame spell sparks the prepared tinder.

Attempting to close weary amber pools, images of his rule race in film behind heavy lids, inviting his brain to make it's own additions and the ardor thoroughly ruins any chance at slumber the silver-streaked noirette would get. But at the very least, his screaming extremities are enjoying such lack of movement. Cedric won't complain, he can't. This and it's successive moments are what he has been waiting for: A glorious return to the kingdom that cast him out as a shameful joke, marching through that village and draw bridge with his defined features held high, to watch that smug look on King Roland II's face fall to amazement and then to horror as a simple word brings that princess near with her hands outstretched, a delicate platter for the delicious, elusive Amulet of Avalor.

He snorts in a hush fit of chuckles, mind dwelling on the most demeaning of scenarios he could use to humble the soon-to-be former king, right along with Baileywick the old, infuriating snoot... If he's still alive, of course. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 2:**

"Phew!" Audibly exaggerated, Sofia sighs as she topples the last pail full of white ash into the large boiling steel basin and drops the bucket carelessly to the ground next to the others surrounding the bubbling contraption's tightened spile.

She takes a moment to wipe her sweat-glistening brow and brush unruly brown locks from sticking to her work-flushed cheeks before digging into her apron pocket for the fragrant sprigs of lavender, adding them to the hot concoction of animal fats, water and the remains of spent hardwood in hopes that the lye they leach from it later will take on it's pleasant smell. Isn't that what anyone wants of their soaps? This process is a tedious one, but profitable none the less; one of the small ways to make end's meet. Nearly endless jobs that has resulted in inner conflict and heartache.

Oceanic orbs watch as the steam rises from the rim and rolling ichorous spheres pop at the surface. It had been when the last pieces of their royal life had begun to dwindle that Miranda expressed their need for work. Both knew full well that to invest everything they had for bits of leather would be foolish when that small amount of wealth was to be used to feed and house them.

Sofia and Miranda had taken to the forest just beyond the outer crops, gathering small bits of wood and rock, much to the younger's chagrin, with every intention of crafting their own weapons. With multiple attempts and failures beneath many a-blistering noonday suns, sore hands and scraped injuries, the women had finally created two crude looking bows with a proper amount of tension to shoot the novicely crafted arrows in their inventory. A troubled thanks to go to her prior years in the Buttercups.

Thoughts had plagued poor Sofia's mind throughout the entire process, but it wasn't until they looked at their work with a minute sense of pride did she feel sick, for the girl knew what would be coming to head. Hunting. Could she do it? Barely was the brunette able to eat meat as it stood, how could she kill an innocent creature; one that she knew had a voice no longer to be heard by her ears and a soul she could no longer attempt to see?

As always, an ultimatum would arise; her mother's livelihood or the animal? Her confidant, caregiver or a stranger to Sofia's life? Of course the answer was clear, but it didn't make the pain ebb or quell the festering guilt in her gut. With the first kill, a part of her had grown cold, dying alongside the animal that twitched in her arms, trickles of a sanguine river flowing along her calloused fingertips as she held the poor doe, whispering her thanks and sorrow; whispering her farewells as its soul drifted onward to the afterlife. She had cried as the light dimmed in it's dark eyes, even more so as they bled and disemboweled it's heavy, flaccid carcass to then be skinned, sectioned and prepared for salt drying or sold in steaks. Every bit to be used, from leather to soap, food to bedding.

Every time Sofia tended a bodiless carapace, tanning it artlessly with pitcher-saved liquid excreta and the rays of the sun, the tears would burn in her throat and sting at her eyes. Because, that was to be her life, for better or worse. And that in itself had been her mantra, every day since, until the heartache faded to a numbed pinch to the tune of her tiny two-person family's survival.

Fire dying beneath the barrel to nothing but crackling red char, it's stone holdings black from smoke, the bubbles slowly ease from liquid that boiled away down to sludge and the brunette blinks back her mesmerized gaze, turning on her heel to head back to the familiar wooden door to their room. Welcoming the chill beneath inflamed palms she leans into the barrier's planks ignoring the drawn low whine of the hinge.

"It's been a pretty productive day, wouldn't you say so?" Sheepishly, Miranda grins from between scraps and shoes, pausing her needle with her daughters amused greeting.

"Uh..." Glancing at the many sized boots and loafers then back at Sofia, she stifles a laugh, "Yeah, yeah, you're right."

Miranda gasps inwardly at all of the footwear littering the floor. Her mind was a million miles away it seems. At least this time her hands took it upon themselves to continue as her conscious stopped being present. Being a business run by women is tough, and each of their inventory sold cheaper than would a man's, so seeing the completion of so much is comforting. Shrugging it off, she puts down the last of her final set and struggles to stand on legs that feel full of pins, ice and jelly, stretching her arms over head and rolling the kinks out of her stiff neck, a yawn forcing it's way to her lips.

"You should rest a little, Mom. I'll start dinner while the lye cools, okay?" Blue meets blue, both in thanks and guilt but Sofia disregards the latter, pointing her finger repeatedly towards the blanketed pallet humming her insistence before she disappears back outside again.

"Hmm." Grunts the older woman as she watches her daughter slink through the door and she defiantly begins cleaning up the mess she made, trying to organize it all in neat rows in and extending from a previously unoccupied corner, piling her needles, straps and extra scraps into an empty drawer of their vanity.

Once more the entrance creaks and in comes the younger brunette, tongs in hand with a chunky glowing ember as she rushes toward the stove in careful yet rapid steps, eyes trained on the fire hazard while habit of memorization guides her willowy frame safely to the kitchen. Miranda watches as she gets to work, sliding the element into place adding tinder to the small thing and stoking it with her breath. It looked effortless, flawlessly done, so much so that if any were to know that her life prior to this had been as a princess they would laugh at the audacity of the 'liar' who said so.

A tight, bitter smile pulls at the woman's lips to hide the wince in her expression from the pain in her heart and the searing burn on her person that has finally begun. A smile to hide the only far-reaching things left from that life into this one of the present. Consequences of that time of betrayal that she has in the moment decided that will stay hidden, until the disease takes it's ultimate toll and starts to turn her appearance monstrous and her body cankers in its tortuous grasp. Then, and only then, will she leave. She will beg of her friend, the inn-keep, to take care of her little girl and Miranda will set off to the next town to die without burdening her daughter further.

It was, after all, her love for King Roland II that brought them into that castle and she failed in it's maintenance. She couldn't keep that flame burning bright, unlike Sofia and the stove before her. Miranda's misstep had cost them both their home, family, wealth and her own health. It's her fault that the graceful brunette of her eyes, of her blood, has to live like this, scavenging for food and fighting just to survive. She is the reason that this lovely creature is swamped with filth, confined in this hovel, pissing in a pot to tan the leather Miranda uses to make these damned shoes instead of the cleanly private privvies at the castle.

The tears threaten, scalding her ducts as her heart breaks further, like only a mother's can; but the acerbic simper stays firmly in place. Her sweet, kind-hearted daughter will be fine. She is a strong woman with a beauty that shines both inside and out. Yes, she will be absolutely fine... And Miranda will make absolutely sure that she can do all there is possible for this girl to prepare for her absence.

"Mom? Are..." A call from naught but couple meters away snaps the older woman back, she sighs blinking a little and swipes long chestnut locks over her shoulder, fingers getting tangled in bypassed knots. "...Are you okay?"

"Yes, honey." She lies, her digits fidgeting in the ornery strands, that smile just getting larger as she bites back a sob that will ruin her facade if it were to be freed. "Perfectly fine. I just felt like standing, I've been sitting so long, you know?" Miranda laughs, but it's brittle and silently she hopes Sofia doesn't notice.

"Alright..." The younger girl studies her a moment, her response accepting, yet unconvinced. "Well, the stew is nearly done re-heating. Is there anything that you would have me to add to it, or will the crust buns alone be alright?"

"It'll be fine however you want it, sweet heart." The girl hums in response, jerking her chin toward the cushions of their bed.

This time Miranda accedes taking few steps and settling in to her normal spot, Sofia carefully hands a full warm bowl to her mother before heading back to retrieve her own portion, lowering next to the woman moments later. They eat in relative silence, the warmth in their bellies growing as each chew and sip travels down, the sustenance working to tame a hunger that never seems to go away any more. But they have each other, at least. For all that has been taken from them, they can take comfort in these companionable, loving moments. An enduring care that won't easily be broken, well until...

"Mmm!" Eagerly, the elder woman gulps down the last of her food, trying to banish the unwanted thoughts before they ruin their meal. "Oh, Sofia... Is it weird that food tastes so much better when you prepare it?" She sets the bowl atop the floor on her side of the pallet, the rushes crunch lightly beneath it's weight as the former queen lets off a sheepish laugh.

"It's only because you didn't have to do the work in order to eat it." Finishing, Sofia follows suit with a knowing smirk. "Everything tastes better when you aren't the one to make it." The girl chuckles, remembering how she wolfed down her serving the night before.

Stretching an expectant hand to her mother, she gathers their used dishes, and heads for the door. "Besides, I can assure you that I didn't gather up that spice again!" They both let out a raucous laugh, memories of giggles that couldn't be helped and flashing threshes that seemed to have been interesting for hours assaulted both minds as the younger brunette stumbles to open the barrier in her joyous fit. "Never will THAT-"

Hoofbeats of many numbers cut her off mid-speak and Sofia widened the opening to observe the commotion outside. Five gorgeous steeds, tromped about as their riders reigned them into a line, and each of the brown beasts gave bit-stuffed whinnies of grumbled consent holding still the ordered position. Handing the flag-banner decorated reigns to his second-in-command, wearing polished iron plates and chainmail a soldier dismounted, bow-legged from what must have been a long travel. With a thick mit running through windblown mousy hair, the officer cleared his stubble-laden throat, readying for the message he was ordered to deliver.

"Sof?" Miranda straightened her skirts, scurrying over to where the girl stood, eyes taking in the familiar men and the insignia upon their chests. She puts a hand to her daughter's shoulder and leans her cheek against the matte of oiled brunette tresses in succored embrace... for the both of them.

"HEAR MY WORDS, GOOD SUBJECTS OF THE KINGDOM OUR SOVEREIGN ENCHANCIA! THE CROWNED KING ROLAND II HAS REQUESTED BUT A SERVICE FROM YOU ALL, A TOKEN OF YOUR PATRIOTISM AND LOVE FOR HIS BENEVOLENCE, OUR MAJESTY BESEECHES YOU ALL FOR ASSISTANCE REGAINING THAT OF WHICH HAS BEEN UNLAWFULLY TAKEN." Sir Alfonse of first legion command takes a well-deserved pause, his broad chest rising and falling with impressively controlled respiration. "IT IS BUT A SMALL FAMILY HEIRLOOM, BOTH PRICELESS AND SENTIMENTAL TO OUR HIGHNESS AND HIS HONORED LINE. A TRINKET OF AMETHYST AND SILVER, PEARL AND DIAMOND; IT IS AN AMULET."

Sofia's stomach whirls heavily in a hollow nausea that rises to sit like a boulder upon her chest. Alphonse turns his head only little, but she catches the emerald shock of his irises as he appraises this rural farming village and the air of her lungs escape the girl.

"HELP YOUR ROYAL SOVEREIGN, RETURN THIS JEWEL AND IT'S THIEF AND YOU SHALL BE REWARDED HANDSOMELY! STEP FORTH TO CLAIM YOUR MISDEED AND YOU SHALL BE PUNISHED WITH MERCY! YOUR KING LOVES HIS LAND AND HIS PEOPLE, BE NOT AFRAID TO SERVE HIM, AS HE SERVES YOU TOO!" His armor clinks as the chainmail sways with his movement, gratefully taking the decorated ropes from his brother in arms with a nod. Stepping up into the notched stirrup, he easily swings his other leg over the mount, straightening quickly before continuing their route; most likely to the surrounding villages in order to spread similar messages. "YAHH!"

Hoofs beating in a messy rhythm, they leave nothing but a thick cloud of clay and dust. The bowls drop from Sofia's trembling fingertips as her lips quiver, haunted cerulean gaze staring helplessly at the plume where the horses and men once stood.

"Hey, hey! Sof... Sofia!" Miranda calls, trying to hold the girl upright as her legs buckle. "Honey, you're okay... We're okay.." Cooing softly to soothe her daughter, she's not entirely sure if what she's saying is true, but the sentiments are spoken regardless.

"It's gone... It's so far away by now."Sofia mumbles, nearly inaudible. Both caught in an embrace of the lost, they slide down so that they are kneeling on the floor, Miranda's digits working through her daughter's auburn locks as she presses kisses to the girl's scalp. "I sold it. It's gone."

"Shh, sweetie, shhh... "

"It's been gone for months." Face growing more pale with every word, the young brunette can't stop the whispered rambling no matter how hard she tries to let her mother's reassurances sink in. Sofia knows full well the punishment for larceny, the harsh licks of whips against broken, bloodied and torn flesh in Dunwitty's square still burns in her mind. But an offense against the king himself? She and her mother face a fate worse than any scars, all because of her own carelessness.

Sofia was not thinking on that fateful day, exile looming on the horizon, her action had come automatic. So, when she had to relinquish heirlooms loaned to her during her stay, she did so without a second glance to what hung 'round her neck. How funny that such a beautiful gem, having granted her much happiness would now be the very thing to end her life... her mother's.

She isn't stupid. She knows that King Roland II sent those men to her village first, in case they had not moved and he was right to do so. This was his warning, his message that clearly states 'return the amulet and I may be lenient.' What is laughable? How are they to enter their hometown when long ago both Miranda and herself were declared dead? How would either of them get close?  
Sofia knows that they never could. The king's mercy is but a lie, to spur his subjects into trusting him, loving him. Those soldiers atop brawny horses, she can't doubt that she'll be seeing much more of them. But at least if she goes to find that amulet, if she leaves her mother to the safety of this town to track down her mistake, Sofia can right this wrong. The familiar men on steeds will catch up once she's located it and upon it's revealed return, she alone will be struck down. But that's alright, she did the crime and it is only fair that the price is paid by the guilty party.

"I've got to get it back." Sofia's blue eyes finally begin to focus, some color returning to her lips and cheeks. "Mom, I have to find the amulet."

"No, Sofia, you don't." Miranda sighs, her hands pausing their mollifying ministrations as she gave her daughter a stern yet concerned look. "There will be thousands of people milling about looking for that necklace. One of them will come up with it, especially with promise of reward. You don't need to do anything."

"I took it, mom. Then, I sold it." Sofia takes a deep breath, letting it out in shuddering harrow spurts. "It's only fair that I return it. I can't rely on other people for this... just thinking about someone keeping it, hiding it and the king getting impatient, sending his men to forcefully look for it..." Shaking her head, the loose brown locks fall over her shoulders. "No, I have to go. I'll find it and bring it back to the king and then... " A sad, watery smile paints the young girl's face as once again she looks at her mother, soaking in her soft feminine features, lovely pools of cerulean, plump lips that give the friendliest of smiles, Sofia commits it all to memory, knowing that this night may be the last she ever sees of her lovely mother. "... And then I'll be home before you know it."

"At least give me a couple of days to spend with you before you go, then. I know I can't change your mind once you've got it set... Grant me that much, honey?" Miranda pushes down the emotions raging withing her breast, constricting her lungs and the pummeling of her own heart as she gives the girl a hopeful smile filled with love. "Please?"

"Only one, for I fear if I stay any longer I'll lose my nerve. I'm afraid it will only move further away from my grasp and that it may never be recovered." The tears scorch the corners of her eyes, quickly breaking the dam as they begin to flood in sheets of hot salt. Miranda's own follow suit, but not in fear. In acceptance. Come tomorrow night, her daughter will not have to take on this task. Come tomorrow night, as goodnight wishes are said and her sweet Sofia drifts off to sleep, Miranda will begin her search for the amulet, leaving her daughter to grow old, finding love and mothering her own children in the safety of her wake. And when she holds her first child, may she be blessed with the answer to her own mother's trickery.

~O~O~O~

Dishes rinsed, soap gathered, set, cooled and cut, she looks down at the peaceful form beneath the sheets. Auburn hair spread across the padding like a halo for an earth-bound angel. Her blue eyes shift behind their lids, dark lashes fanning her cheeks as she dreams. The sneaking figure readies the bag upon her back, orbs scanning the lovely slumberer once more before she slowly opens the door, it's whine low, but muted with the gentle movement. It closes just as silently behind her.

Shining high up in the sky, a midnight moon with it's many stars light the way, clear of clouds' obscurity. Every step jolts the female, but her booted feet carry her, faster and faster still along the road leading through thick brush and wood of the forest, her speed only haulted by the glances behind she would throw to make sure she was not being tailed.

Miranda's eyes could never lie, Sofia could tell her plans from the moment she made the request. This is her problem, never would she place this burden on a woman that has had far too many of her own... No. Even as the tears gather and the pain grips at her chest while every stride brings her own death closer, the brunette would never regret this decision. It is the right one.

Emerald leaves cloaked with the shadow of night click above with the wind as it carries the sounds of the many nocturnal creatures singing their calignostic anthems, almost in tune with the thud and scrapes of rocks beneath her soles. She continues onward, not sure where her journey should begin aside from her ever-pummeling feet and the path lain before them.

~O~O~O~

A day's journey time leads the trio into a dawn-drenched town, beyond a farmhold, threaded with the idle chatter of merchants beginning their early day's labor.

"Were ye awake when ta king's horses came through, Beatrice?"

"Why, no? John wouldn't allow me much time to be awares of anything aside from the stacks." The woman, Not-Beatrice gives a high-pitched, annoying trill that Cedric can only hope is a sad attempt at laughter. Either that or she's magically turned into a dying pig, and he knows for certain that he hasn't touched his wand. She mentioned the king so he hasn't a choice but to listen in on their idiotic conversation. It is best to know your enemy, and catching up on years worth of gossip is currently a parallel mission. Get on with it, wench!

"I say! I don' know wether ta pat ye on th' back er be mad I ain' gettin' th'same!" Another ear and soul-shattering laugh taints the morning air, the noirette shivers involuntarily, nearly ready just to give up and find another source of information.

"Well, they came an' spread word that e's a-missin' some sorta necklace. Amythest, I think they said." A thin black brow raises past sweat-drenched platinum bangs as Cedric falters in his steps.

This... This definitely changes things. Could someone have beat him to the punch? Slugswamp calls out into the golden sky, Wormwood's rattled crow follows suit.

"Ah!" The words make it only in breath past his lips. "What to do, what to do?"

"Nah, din't that cart merchan' 'av some'in like that a while back?" Ear's perked, the sorcerer slows, closing in on a wooden pillar of a closed tailor's shop.

"Yeah, but that was some time an' he was headin' for the neighboring kingdom."

"Shit." Cedric hangs his head in frustration, eye twitching. He's got to turn around, come back the way he came. His sore etremities loathe this idea and he huffs just audible enough for his birdies to send him cackling taunts.

Amidst the quiet buildings, a lone woman clad in an all concealing-cloak seemingly floats by, the print of her shoes the only tell-tale sign that she was actually there. Wormwood clucks, going unnoticed between the noisy young raven and the momentarily depressed streaked noirette.

Her steps are quick yet restrained, carrying the young woman passed the sleepy storefronts and into the clearing before the waking woods. The animal skin robes that trail behind and the girl's visage becoming even more obscured by distance until nothing is left but the small disturbances in the sand behind like a faint memory.

The sorcerer sighs, expelling all the oxygen from his lungs. He clenches his fists, shutting his eyes in preparation for his backward trek, onward and into the unknown. This is just an unaccounted for variable in an experiment long-time in the making, though it has now been defined. All that is left is to track down that evasive jewel, the answer that has and always been.

Suddenly, the man's vision is breaking with the day, brow set and gaze filled once more with that flame of determination. Drawing his thin, taut frame to full height, he pivots upon his heel, a hand reaching regally into the air as he summons his minions into a follow with a slight twitch of his fingers.

~O~O~O~

"Gggrggggrrrrrrlllllll." That was the sound that sent birds into fright flight from the gappy dense canopy above, leaves raining down like a spring shower in the late fall. But, Sofia does not stop. She keeps moving, because hunger has not been a stranger in the years she's been away from that place she used to call home. Nor is she unfamiliar with thick brush or walking. The brunette could hold out if needed, and this situation definitely warranted as much.

Her pace is steady, enough to keep her going forward, but not too much to tire the girl too quickly. By nightfall, she would need to break for sleep. From all her training and outtings with the Buttercups, she knows that fatigue is the one thing that could lead to death. That can't happen, not yet at least. Getting back that amulet is her top priority and with it, working hand in hand, Miranda's safety. So she needs to keep her wits about her.

The girl keeps a skilled watch on the bushes she passes, scouting for edible berries, herbs, leaves and fruits to add to her sack. Stocking up is second priority, as she has no idea where that merchant's trail will lead. To be stuck with no money, food or water in a barren land with nothing of nourishment would be a predicament ending in nothing but failure.

"I can withstand... I'm not hungry... I'm not tired... For mom... For me... I can withstand... " The chant is mouthed but not spoken, it's words repeating in Sofia's mind sparking a new life in her numbed yet aching muscles. Her satchel's weight seems to lighten just enough as she rolls her shoulders. The leather upon her swollen feet rub at her thick soles and thin skin as she cautiously steps over protruding tree roots and the random animal lives that cross the thinning path.

Chittering of woodland creatures and birdsong fill a small portion of her mentality as she moves forward subconsiously aware of her duties and in the depths of her travel, she recedes into the calm of it, letting it sweep her away in its comforting tranquility.

Vaguely aware of her actions, she peels back and breaks bark earlier identified as edible and gathers a branch of succulent black berries to add to the folded sack upon her back. The sky is just light enough to see, but growing ever-darker by the minute. Huh, evening already?

The willowy girl spares no time, gathering tinder and rocks striking that spark of life from flintrock against her lone steel blade into a small smoldering ember, which she nurses it with her very breath into a controlled blaze. Nibbling on a small portion of salted venison and carefully chewing berries, savoring the moisture they leave behind, Sofia's blue eyes reflect the beauty of the dancing flames before her. The orange-black hue from the dead brush forcing it's intrusion into the crimson gold spirit, letting any who'd pay attention know it was still there.

She licks the last of the fruit from her lips, stretching out to rest weary limbs. Fallen leaves provide ample cushion from the forest floor and she takes advantage, laying her head in the direction of her travels to avoid losing her way upon waking. The world falls to a crackling blackness as her consciousness slips away. Sofia grips tightly to only one thing as she succumbs to the slumber.

"Mom, I can do this." A heavy breath in, an equally heavy breath out, her arms and legs grow ever-heavy, eyelids sealed tight. "Don't worry."

~O~O~O~

It is dark. All light offered by the setting sun has already been stolen from the deep indigo sky, yet the sorcerer walks on. Wrapped in the camouflage provided by this already-traveled wood his feet move heavily, purposefully, guided by the brilliance of a miniaturized summoned star. Cedric is beyond exhaustion, yes, but onward he goes, fighting every pulsing ligament screaming for him to stop.

Because, he can't. This whole trip so far has been a waste, village lipservice aside. Wiping a slowly drawling trail of perspiration from his brow, the streaked noirette sets his sight on the abyss beyond his flaming little sun. A ghost of dim trees overshadowed by his twinkling luminescent orb both come and pass his set vision, almost as a cloud floating in an overcast sky might be overlooked, lulling the observer into a entrancing dance between action and awe.

Back from their scout ahead, birds in the shape of mere shadow into the night dutifully land upon his shoulders, cacophonous caws and sharp talons digging into the man's trapezial flesh beseech his attention. Feathers ruffling at his ears, wings slapping frantically disturb his hearing, yet still he notices the pitched scream coming from deeper into the trees. His heart leaps into his chest, beating bruises almost clearly into his esophagus.

Without much thought, the sorcerer tugs his wand from the folds of his robe, a spell in his mind and a rune itching to be drawn at the tip of his fingers as they grip the thin baton. Tome at his chest other arm at the ready much like a knight with his beloved sword, he charges forth to investigate the trouble undoubtedly barricading his path.

Sweat dampened silver and black fly as he dives forth, Slugswamp and Wormwood take shelter in the branches of the nearby trees. The sorcerer nearly trips over his own shoes, but recovers quickly upon a heart-shattering plea ringing out from a terrified female followed by sickening laughter resembling greasy grunts.

Cedric can only hope that his legs will carry him there in time, he wills his muscles to comply, the soreness to ebb just long enough. It's not that he generally cares, but he is a malevolent sorcerer that is also a gentleman. And a gentleman doesn't stand idly by when a lady is in such obvious distress. His mind may be on domination, but that does not mean that the sorcerer is keen on violence, quite the opposite actually.

"N-No please!" Obviously scared, the woman's voice trembles. "I don't have any money!"

"'Ey, blasted wench is right." A brief thud pollutes the air, a nauseating mix of panicked sobs and animalistic growling male laughter.

"'Salright, lit'al kitty has more ta offer'n coins..." Another scream blares aloud, resounding in the approaching sorcerer's ears. One of the men ahead heaves a painful grunt, alerting Cedric the struggle just ahead. The victim is fighting, a good distraction for what he needs to do. "Oof!"

One stride, two. Men seem to appear from behind a wandering branch, hulking shadowed figures amongst the golden glow of a campfire's blaze. The dancing darkness splashes into every frightening contour of these filthy men wearing molded trousers and tattered blouses. Their writhing limbs and kneeling forms shield amber orbs from the horrendous acts they are attempting to perform.

"Na' be still ya' lit'al shit. 'Sbeen too long since ah felt'n as sof' as you!" The speaking man rears his fist, irritation grating in his timbre, "'Ah said stop, damned w'man!"

Before the man can unleash punishment upon the crying woman, Cedric forcefully juts his wand into the air, his wrist flicking artfully each digit guiding the instrument in expert strokes that send both men reeling backward, onto the forest floor.

One of the men looks to the source of interruption, grimacing as ice runs through his veins. The other writhes, trying to fight off the pain. His nails drag along his skin violently, breaking through only to be stopped by the next layer. The other pants, unable to keep his eyes open any longer falls back to the dirt, leaves embedding into his thick beard and lengthy locks of black as he tries in vain to lift himself, failing miserably in his attempts.

Choked cries and the crackling fire are all that fill the noirette's senses, his focus too strong. He needs to see this through, or else comeuppance from this filth will be upon both he and the previous victim and his efforts would be for naught. His damp brow lowers as he narrows his sight upon the two scum, watching as their abused flesh pales, blood freezing mid-circulation. Each in turn looking more a wax sculpture as the spell reaches completion and their limbs lose mobility.

Finally, the sounds die out and all that is left to show any sort of life exists within the frozen figures is the twinkle of life that still dwells within their glassy bead-like eyes. Satisfied with the results of his magic, only practiced on sacks of rubbish and other inanimate objects of the like, an open smirk tickles his lips into submission as he pants, lowering his wand.

Safely stowing the baton savior, the noirette rests a moment, trying desperately to alleviate the dizzying rush of electric heat coursing through Cedric's head and limbs, an aftershock of mystical energy that takes its penance in form of stamina. Trembling now, twitching fingers grip the old tome's bind, Cedric takes a knee, inhaling slow deliberate breaths, exhaling in the same controlled fashion, if not a bit sputtered.

His companions safely blanketed in the foliage above flutter down to his shoulders in overture, endowing the man with what little they can as animals, of nature itself. Familiars, guardian spirits to this sorcerer in which their lives are forever entwined by loyalty.

Although the sharp stab their claws give is an annoyance, Cedric is grateful as it seems to pull him back into his rightful state. Lifting his head, only trying correct his posture and move on, the sight of bright royal blue among a sea of disheveled dressings and leather sends him to bafflement.

That hair, the curve of her jaw, the innocence upon the girl's face, the recognition in those familiar eyes...

"Princess Sofia?" More of a question to himself than anything, her name tumbles from his lips like a wayward breeze.

The brunette's body continues to shake violently and she pulls the many fabrics closer to herself, protectively, but she smiles a sad, watery smile. A smile that closes those sky-like eyes, shedding tears that had built up over years brought to the surface in both utter terror and now relief.

Unable to fight her nerves any longer, mentally the girl surrenders, the atmosphere fading to blank black within an instant leaving only two words to escape Sofia in sigh.

"Mister Cedric."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 3:**

"Ugh..." The sorcerer growls out, confusion passing from the thick air between he and the resting royal and into annoyance. "Finnigan's fungus, what is she doing all the way out here?"

He can feel a headache brewing, over-exertion and the loss of daylight is weighing heavy upon Cedric. The burning flames that dance its glowing waltz, promises to melt the chill in his bones... But that girl... Sofia is here, so far from the castle. That means that the amulet can't be too far off, right?

Lithe, lengthy fingers rake through his bi-colored locks in an attempt to massage his pounding scalp. Slugswamp puffs in protest at the invasion of his shoulder-space, calling into to hurting man's ears causing further winces at the thunderous sound. Wormwood pushes off his unsteady perch, raining vicious pecks down on his progeny until the other tumbles down, garbling in dissent, and he claims the ground, watching his human. The younger raven spreads his wings, catching the wind and propelling himself back to the comforts of open branches.

What should he do? Can Cedric risk waiting until the younger girl wakes, getting her hands on that precious gem and whisking it away, back into the confines of that wretched king's palace? This is a rare opportunity in itself. No dirty tricks, no schemes... just a race against time and Sofia to see who will come out as victor or servant.

But the bodies that lay motionless at the streaked noirette's boots tell a different tale. How could he just leave when evidence of the obvious dangers she will face are as blaringly clear as this? These pig-like men that grunted into her hair and whose hooves traveled her unwilling skin, with naught but gain and pleasure on their tiny minds. How could Cedric subject someone to such treatment?

As unending his discord toward golden chivalry may be, he just can't. The sorcerer hangs his heavy head, sharp welling pain pulsing in all of his brains synapses and he sighs in conflictive defeat. Grabbing his wand once more between quaking digits, his other hand desperately gripping the spine of his precious book in order to stave off the undeniable aches, he draws in precise lines that glimmer in the atmosphere his lips moving, translating age-old text into breathy speech and the men more like animals begin to fade from the leaves on the grass and dirt of the ground, taken to someplace away from here, a place that Cedric knows their bodies wont be disturbed until they thaw back into life. That cellar will be perfect, smelling nearly as bad as they and abandoned to avoid dismemberment upon accidental stumble. A kindness they don't truly deserve.

Elegant loops and connecting swipes bring order and patch to Sofia's disheveled state and her belongings back into the satchel in which it came. The streaked noirette holds in the labored gasp as his body stings and his skull sears with bloated agony.

Just one more. Only one and then he can complete the mission began so long ago.

The tip of his baton marks out not just a rune this time, but a written prayer in an ancient language said to have been spoken by the gods. Its light is blinding and hard to concentrate upon, but he finishes surprisingly without rush, each careful stroke draining him further taking from him the reserves of his strength up until it reaches the peak of brilliance, shattering into glittering pieces of heaven itself that gather along the girl's form, melting into her very being.

The sorcerer cries out as his knees buckle and he collapses into pile at the forest floor. Unable to move, he waits in throbbing torture for his power to return so that he may journey on to find that amulet and release the restrictions from his body and plunge into limitless wells of magical fortune.

~O~O~O~

Cerulean pools bloom into the breaking day, widening upon a sharp inhale as Sofia's body jolts upright in diluted lingering fear. There is nothing amiss in these woods. Soft golden pillars of the sun's rays stream through gaps in the trees illuminating the jade and fire leaves of fall's approach. There are no men grabbing at her clothes, the smell of drink and grease does not nauseate her senses. The air is peaceful around the girl, but her heart pumps contusions within its cage and the hand that presses against her chest still trembles.

That dream was far to real to allay the brunette's nerves, that helplessness too close to an actuality. An omen maybe, a warning? She doesn't exactly know, but she's sure that she doesn't want to feel that way again. If it weren't for her long-gone sorcerer... Sofia shudders, thinking of what possibilities her mentality would have shown.

Cedric. The blue-eyed woman gives a tight, bitter smile, wiping the remaining sleep from her eyes. That man, a part of this terrifying vision, was her savior. Maybe she will meet with him on her journey, see him one last time... Where would he be now? There is no way to tell.

Pale fingers stretch in reach of her bag, shuffling its meager contents to grab few berries to wet her mouth and satiate her stomach. Sweet and tart is the juice that coats her dry tongue, the tiny seedlings roll down her throat in a ginger gulp and she digs into that pouch upon deeper thought. Out comes the glinting metal, scratches in its blades from use, the leather-bound body of the utensil still cool from the chill in the breeze.

The brunette turns the edge, inspecting its sharpness in the morn's glow, before she abruptly clutches a section of her cloak. She slices it in a crude strip. The heavy skin, too thick to cut with ease, hums as the edge drags into its girth, but Sofia sees her task through with such conviction. Never will she be a victim again. Be it in her slumbering nor waking hours.

Azure narrowed into focused slits, the girl fastens the wide shred around her slim waist, wrapping it thrice and knotting the thing, giving it tight security. The blade slides in easily behind a ribbon, tucked close at her side where grabbing the weapon will be simple, should she need.

A final once-over at her steel salvation and slinging the satchel at her back, Sofia presses up from the rustling ground of leaves to a refreshed stand, ready to move on and track down her mistake.

~O~O~O~

"Should we peck him?" The youngest of the two black feathered fowls squawks from the unruly branches of a leafless bush.

"He does make quite the spectacle." Wormwood muses with a gritty garble, a head cocked with a single beady eye taking in the sad sight of the exhausted mage.

"Soooooo..." Slugswamp chirps, with two miniature flaps of his wings. "Can we peck him?"

"There's bound to be a farmhand or hunter about soon..." The elder bird clucks to himself in thought, a fluttering jump taking the raven from one side of the doubled-over sorcerer to the other, observing the effect of continuing his tread on this man's spent form.

"I'm gonna peck him!" And peck him, he does. That solitary hand outstretched and splayed, a frozen grasp for more land and farther distance, seems a perfect target and he nudges a knuckle with the point of his beak. Flapping back a few paces, the young bird takes delight in the immediate result, the formerly sleeping noirette wretches his digit from the onslaught and rolls onto his side with a flood of colorful language that could paint a rainbow a hundredfold.

"Chicks." The aged fowl takes a moment beneath his own wing, a mix of embarrassment and envy for the young bird present in his growling caw.

Filthy. Cedric is downright disgusting, so much so that his socked shins, the vest at his chest, robe and sleeves are caked in this path's sickly orange clay. A nuisance, but can be dealt with in a practiced drawing. He forces himself to stand, still shaky on aching limbs, that migraine still present in dull pulses. The mage dusts off the excess from his form and feels for his trusted smooth wand. It's warm in his palm, his body giving the twig its pleasant feel and he sighs out in content the words to cleanse as he slashes the sky and then turns the tip of his wand to himself. One of the few spells that work on the caster, thankfully.

It is as if the atmosphere throws summer's gusts in only his direction, the winds lifting his being only slightly and caressing the noirette from all sides. The world's hands upon him as the heat becomes cool as his clothes collect molecular water from his surroundings, lifting the grime and evaporating it with a final blast of the sun's own focused rays. This momentary warmth seems to weight him, as his boots make contact to the earth below.

"Better." The sorcerer nods to himself, glad to have tested that particular spell out to perfection years back. He's still tired, his brain now back to pounding, but he is also clean and ready to continue. Upright, this time. Crawling through the woods and on for a few miles was a humiliating feat, not to be repeated. The man tucks his instrument back into its rightful place, book tucked at his bow and he lifts his chin to the path ahead, the nose of a noble pointed toward the heavens as he traipses forth to collect his dignity. Without delay, the mage's trusted inky companions take to the morning sky, the clamor of propulsion and wing-beats in their wake.

~O~O~O~

It seems like forever ago since she's seen the gentle love reflected in her mother's eyes and it hurts carrying the burden of her broken promise for so long. Sofia knows it has been at the very least a week. Maybe two, maybe more. Truthfully, after the seventh sunrise without Miranda's cheery 'Good morning!' the younger brunette could not bear to count any longer.

She passed several towns, spoken to many merchant and shopkeeps along her way... That travelling merchant should be making his journey back toward Enchancia by now. If the girl can keep on this road, one directed to her by a lovely smithy whose business with the nomadic salesman was alarmingly alike her own, she should run into him.

Keeping diligent on her duty, she gathers her food from the surrounding brush, at times borrowing an egg or stray grain from farms she stumbles upon, taking water from streams and wells into a pig-bladder given to her by a huntsman with an extra in trade for a rope she weaved from stringed lumber. The young woman has sustained thus far and this accomplishment is what keeps her sleeping light in the quiet night and waking before the sun each day, it keeps her swollen muscles straining forth for each additional footfall and her mind straying for the tasks ahead.

Her gaze stays set on the vague trees and hanging moss ahead, where worn golden dirt trails lie in the high grass, dry from the autumn sun but lively in its sway in the brisk wind. The brunette's ears stay perked, listening behind the rushing of the atmosphere and the many animals native to this land, and that is when she hears it. A faint disturbance just beyond the slight incline of terra below, the whinny of a horse and the steady hum of metal-enforced wheels, the muted tinkling of hanging utensils and the thunks of crates. With these sounds, Sofia's limbs move of their own accord, fisted hands pumping in tandem with her booted feet, all soreness and ailments are forgotten as this be-wheeled ray of hope come galloping her way and she its.

The grass sounds like rainfall and the air she cuts through like the gusts of a storm as she runs faster than she can recall ever having done so before. Those bright azure orbs water when that familiar cart comes into view and the long-sought sight of that man at driver's reins. Her heaving lungs allow a difficult laugh and she raises a single hand to wipe away the happy tears, which proves challenging with jumbled fingers as her being bounces with every stride.

Not necessarily a pleasant scent, the girl can smell the horse they are so close now and on a whim she jogs to a stop, spreading both her arms an legs, waving her hands at the salesman ahead.

"Hello!" Palms swishing furiously, as loud as her air-hungry lungs will allow, the young woman calls out. "Hey!"

"Whoa!" With a tug on the reins, the merchant coaxes the stallion to a halt. It clomps a few paces, slowing speed until it stomps to a stop. Skilled hands tie the directional ropes to their impressively crafted horn and the husky man climbs down from his bench, stiffened sun-kissed fingers working through white-blonde wind-blown locks as he walks on testy legs toward the brunette.

"You sure 'ave traveled a ways, Miss Sonia!" He stretches his neck and rolls his shoulders, a genial smile upon his rose-dusted features, the girl blushes her own smile spreading despite her enmity toward the alias. "Wha' can ah do for you?"

"Mister Milesturn! I'm so glad to see you! You see, I was wondering..." Pausing, she's unsure how to word the question. The doubts are bubbling in dizzying swirls at her belly. What if he finds out she stole the amulet and sold it to him. Would he give her the information? Would he ever trust her mother's trades again? She can't not ask him, so Sofia steels herself, prepared for whatever. She's come this far, she wont give up... No matter what. "That necklace with the violet oval gem... Do you know where it is now?"

When the trader's face falls, the young woman keeps the sob hidden, her smile tight, but still present.

"Tha' amulet sold at the coast ma'am. At best all ah can be sure of is tha' its over seas by now."

"I just need a name and a place, sir. Please..." The girl sighs, blinking slowly and training her face to stay lined with optimism. "It's incredibly important to me." Unbeknownst to the pair, mere meters down the beaten path, an ear perks and birds caw.

With careful steps ahead but honey pools trained on scene behind him, the noirette lifts a finger to his lips, a silent sign to hush his feathery companions further. He hides nestled into the tall grass, listening to the words being traded between Sofia and the until-recently elusive salesman.

Why did Cedric wait for her pass back at that small town? Was it worry? Was it the feeling of inadequacy spurring his ethics, in fear that his last spell did not work? When he finally saw her tired visage entering through fog on a rather dark night from rickety tavern panes, was that why he was so relieved? To see the mahogany-maned dame, worn-out but no worse for wear.

Well, what's done is done and as far as the man can tell it worked; normally shifty men in the heart of isolated lands seemed to bend to the girl's will with no ulterior motives and even territorial wildlife tended to be tame in her presence; protected as she is, everything has a limit. Is that why the sorcerer is still near?

That couldn't be the reason. No... He's just letting the little royal do the ground work until the time comes for him to scoop up the amulet. That's it, that is all there is to it.

Right? Right!

Cedric is keeping himself paces ahead. He'll be the first to the magical jewel, the first to see it, first to snatch it. And, Sofia will be the first to witness his rise to power beyond humankind's wildest dreams. Even though the look on her face as she stands still, watching the merchant's cart trot away, pulls at something within him, the knot forming heavily at his chest; she will see true power and for her hard work... He'll show her mercy.

As thus, with only a single backward glance, the mage moves forth, as quick as he can on tips of his shoes on bent knees with only a hand's digits as support. Onward and over the hill where he breaks free to make his hide at the backs of scattered trees, bushes, and eventually a barn and scattered cabins as they come into view.

Taking routes spoken of by that trader and with the help of few whispered words and quick flicks of his wand, heads the young woman by half of an hour, long enough for the sorcerer to eat lightly and drink smartly with his tab paid in rocks turned silver coin, before ducking out of the busy eatery in wait of the brunette around its corner.

Impatiently squawking and hopping at the pebbled ground, large wings flap rapidly at quarter-span, the two ravens eagerly awaiting their fair share food. A grumble from the noirette causes glassy little eyes to focus on him, but he shakes their attentions stubbornly.

"You're birds. Can you not scavenge as is in your nature? Do I have to do everything around here?" With nothing but an angry hiss as his answer, he reaches into his pocket, producing scraps of fat from his pork and crusts of his bread. "Merlin's mushrooms, take it! But you will lend a hand from here on out, understand?"

Slugswamp and Wormwood deliberately ignore the mage's words as they gobble down his offerings with swift abandon under the veil of dusk's dim light as owners of inns and other over-night specialty businesses bring flame to torch lamps hanging on iron-worked posts near the road. The man peeks around the wall at the commotions, scanning the beginning of the calignously shrouded path, broken only by the rising moon and last glow of the setting sun, the orb-like glow of flickering captured fire in its cages making it difficult to see past, but that unmistakable figure is there. Graceful stride leaving no jolt in her height and straight posture creating a breath-taking silhouette even with such fur-lined cloak masking her form.

The girl's hood covers most of her face, lifted only enough for her to see out and to shield her sun-burnt cheeks from chap against the ever-cooling wind, a precursor to winter's approach Cedric supposes. Her plush lips are down-turned, not too much unlike his own during this trek, and has been at every glance he's taken. The streaked noirette can't help but compare the image of the joy-filled simper upon the princess he used to know to that of the one at present.

Years will shed the illusions from a child's mind, the sorcerer knows this fact intimately and unfortunately, cannot help but to mourn this girl's apparent lack of buoyancy. He snaps, his fowls know to follow and he toes the alleyway to round the thatched constructs, their wood, mud and stone walls passing at either side in porous lined blurs as loose rocks roll at his soles. He takes the dirt residential path that runs parallel the main street, cutting across vacant porches as the home's families lay in their warm beds to snooze into morning.

The mage's amber orbs catch glimpses of her from his peripherals, his legs working to both step in softness and speed in the shadows of this path. One domicile after another working in turn to bring the man into a withering crop of harvested cornstalks and out of view of his target.

It is night but he's studied Sofia enough to predict that she will keep moving forward until she can make camp, deep in the confines of wood just that much closer to her goal. And, he will do the same.

~O~O~O~

Ever since that night, he has been there always somewhere near in her subconscious mind coming into brief view when she feels at her worst. Almost like a beacon of hope that shines out like cliff-pyres leading ships to land after a long voyage in that last stretch when all the passengers are at their bleakest. That sorcerer she used to look up to as a mentor and friend saved her from helpless victimization and the flashes of his face keep her moving forward when all she wants is to stop and let come what may. His phantom visage reminds her to think of whom she cares about, not to be selfish, not to give up.

That mage serves as representation that someone is counting on her to find that amulet, to help her mother to remain living the life they built together... Because there was nothing she could do for him.

Her small campfire burns bright against the black of the forest that she had to feel around in order to navigate, and she sighs as the heat seems to melt her frozen limbs in waves that resound deep in the bone. A bite from a wild strawberry and a sip of cool water does not sate the rumbling hunger that knots at her core, but it suffices in supplying something rather than not. Soon enough the brunette is done with her nightly nibble, the pouch of refreshment tied and placed back into its proper holdings and she lays on her side, closing blue eyes that when open reflect dancing flames, as she finds purchase in rest.

The moments stack before the noirette enters the dense wood, following light he dared not create himself for fear of attracting attention. Amber orbs attend to the looping roots raising above the grass and stray branches posing threat to his person as he makes his way along the disconnected dirt patches signifying the route's way. Thanks to Sofia, behind shadowed trunks and hanging vines of dying flowers, the forest sways slightly in crimson gold that highlights stubborn emerald ferns and the speckled kaleidoscope of foliage ready to drop their seeds before winter's slumber.

It's an alluring luminescence, drawing Cedric forth in lucid daze his companions close at head as they navigate through the treetop maze of crossing wood and leafy obstacles until he sees her. The fire is playing with shade against her delicate features, those cerulean eyes shifting beneath their lids watching a dream unfold withing her mind as her lips jerk as if she's speaking. He catches the smile before it spreads across his face, but seeing the girl gently tucked within the peaceful grasp of rest has a curious effect, his chest thumping harder.

It ends abruptly though, his heart nearly stopping upon further inspection. Her cloak flatly covering the brunette like a blanket does little to hide the concavity between the young woman's ribs and hips that seem to jut out beyond reasonable doubt nor does the hood shelter the prominent jawline or cheekbones that are lacking that thin fatty layer constituting health. This revelation is peculiarly devastating leaving a hollow, resounding numbness to lodge in the sorcerer's throat and before he can even think, his hand is digging into the pocket containing his morrow's lunch, the potato's cooking parchment crinkling as he finds the princess's satchel bringing out her drink bladder and sets the food and container upon it.

Wand pulled, a spell in his mind and etching his lips his magic brings forth the water in the very air, starting with the simplest sparkling droplet as it adds into more, this shape shifting blob of hydration hovering in the still wind until Cedric directs it toward the woman's water pouch. The translucent, airborne, miniature river flows with ease through the utility, smooth, tiny waves flashing glimpses of the fire's brilliance.

This action may not have been the smartest of moves in sake of his anonymity, but it felt right. Whatever 'right' means.

~O~O~O~

"Nmmm..." Grasping tightly to the last fleeting tendrils of unconsciousness, Sofia groans, heavy eyelids growing lighter she squeezes them shut. Just a few minutes more. More of that deep lulling abyss that she has been lacking for the past few weeks while waiting for the merchant. She pleads with her mind for just a bit more until she knows she's fully awake and gives up the struggle by sitting up straight with a drawn out stretch and a silent yawn.

When she opens those groggy pools of blue, she stops, her arms freeze above her covered head at differentiating heights, pale-pink mouth agape, confusion turns her blood an odd mix of frost and lava. The brunette blinks once, twice, thrice, and yet the little package is still sitting there, on top of her things with the previously near-empty bladder now full with ample bloat. Arms lowering at a snail's pace and lips sealing back to the stature of poise, the girl reaches curious, jittering tips toward this mysterious offering.

Sofia tries not to think too deeply upon the disturbing truth that someone had rummaged through her things in this camp as she slept nor that they felt compelled to leave her with gifts. It is suspicious but other than the eager growling of her digestive tract and the lingering haze of exhaustion wafting in and out of her mind, the young woman feels fine and without violation.

It peeks through shuffling paper as her digits work the intricate folds away from the body, that thick tanned skin looks akin to the pearly gates of Heaven upon a saint's crossing to the afterlife. Its muted scent a symphony to the angel's chorus creating a perfect harmony between Sofia's sight and smell. She can't help herself. This beautiful piece of art is attacked with eager teeth and she relished the hearty flavor of the beef fat broth this root was apparently cooked in.

Each swallow elicits hums of satisfaction from the brunette, with each bite a low, hungry little gnarl. The potato dwindles in size from a grown man's fist down to nothing and she nearly collapses in all of the gratification it lent her shrunken stomach. Washing down the root's meat in a refreshing gulp of water that tastes too clean for reality as it sweeps away the stickiness of the dry dam of dehydration sealing the female's esophagus. She sighs, knotting and returning the pouch to the rest of her belongings.

With newly founded energy, refueled by the kindness of an unknown soul, the girl lifts from the ground and carries on toward the end of this continent, where her journey will finally begin.

Only a short trek on from the awakened female, deeper into the wood magic works its way into dissembling a camp it made only hours before. Broken branches uncross in multiple sections, their leaves shaking violently as walls from the mage's shelter fall into a heap upon the grassy forest floor, shocks of jade stalks and rich brown dirt show through the gaps in the twigs as his birds call out his need to hurry.

He doesn't speak while he kicks the sticks out of the path's way and stays silent while his back bends and arm swats at obstacles as they pop up, his boots toeing at the uneven ground both careful and quick, eyes sure that he follows the trail lain by those before. Tracks from the wheels of carts, widened slightly in over-use.

Slugswamp hops from branch to branch, a game to keep the young bird entertained, as the older flaps only just ahead of his human. This man that took care of him since he was a boy and Wormwood a chick. His clumsy mistakes now mostly memory as beady black takes a glance behind.

Now the sorcerer moves with surety and dedication, lanky limbs move with lithe grace as if every motion was pre-thought and ordained in loom by the fateweaver's themselves. He caws a happy grit, tired as he is, his wings still beat and loyalty runs strong.

A rushed hour or two leads the trio to a bright break in the onslaught of countless trees and they slow, gulping down much-needed air. The noirette almost doesn't want to look ahead, he knows what is coming just by the increasing incline and the thinning of oxygen all around. How the timber is situated and less in number as that quasi-road begins its ascent veering off to the right instead of straight, he squats, stretching his long legs with two pumps forefront the waist-tall grass on either side of him.

Only few clouds decorate the world's bright azure lid as the morning sun hides behind its chosen fluff, cooling everything below it with its shyness. There's no time like the present, also, no time more pressing that tell-tale ruffling of brush alerts Cedric to keep on and spurs his feet into action.

Wind nipping like ice against his fingers and nose, the brunt only just staved by his stockings and robes upon the rest of him the sorcerer makes it around the bend of heightening land, out of sight from the young woman unknowingly at his follow.

~O~O~O~

The smell roused Sofia with a start from her slumber. An entire day spent scaling this mountain, with all of its beautifully terrifying views on such a thin path left it's impact on her overworked muscles and before she knew it, she was out with the chill of the air surrounding her in its frigid embrace. Then why is she so warm?

Bruises of weariness circle her cerulean orbs as they crack open. She didn't build that fire, burning underneath flat stones set up like stove, nor did she hunt for that ghastly smelling meat or have enough time to dry its fur and wrap herself in its warm caress.

Grey smoke billows from above furiously crackling scarlet gold heat as remnants of this steak's fat dribbles in bubbling rivers across and over smooth grey stones. Pungent is the bitter, sulfuric soil scent as the slab cooks between rocks. As unpleasant the odor, the girl cries from this overwhelming act of care. Whoever is doing this, however many people have a hand in this charity... She's beyond grateful.

Above, the sky shifts from red and fuchsia to shimmering speckled sapphire. Below, Sofia dines on oily meat that feels like grains of sand upon her buds but fills her body with a warmth that spreads to all the areas the fluffy bear fur could not reach as she thinks of many ways she can show her appreciation to her savior or saviors, should that opportunity ever come to pass.

~O~O~O~

The sorcerer won't question his actions any more and he knows why he did what he did. Seeing that girl collapse on the harsh rocky terrain had shaken him, his short reprieve among the cover of bush a level above had ended with the thud of her body and with strength and courage he was sure never existed before, a jump down from that ten feet replaced the timid climb. His land was hard, irritating the blisters at his soles and jolting his pain-weakened legs to a second of debilitating shock.

As soon as he had recovered, he was at her side. Trembling fingers at her face to see if she was still breathing as he frantically laid his head upon her chest. The mage had sobbed out in joy but the blue tint on her lips had sucked the fear right back into his breast.

From calloused hands and scavenging orbs, he found what he needed to make her a fire, to breathe heat back into the limp girl's alarmingly chilled body. But, it wasn't enough to tame his mind, that racing thing picturing this girl's untimely demise. Which, in the strangest of ways, was the complete opposite of his desire.

This princess, the very reason he hadn't gotten his hands on the Amulet of Avalor, is now the reason for his panic. His rival in this grueling race, but someone he feels for, needing to protect that very girl that used to look at him with wide, inquisitive eyes and encourage his abilities. Poseidon's pumpkins, could this get any more complicated?

The sorcerer had spotted a darkened dent in the wall of soil and rock just a ways back and with no further thought but to find either safe shelter or food, he ran. On legs whose bones felt hollow and brittle and muscles that were in failure, he pushed through desperate, determined. Gusts knocked at him, beating at the noirette until unstable and breathless, shoes digging deep into the unforgiving rock and dirt below to fight it, fight nature itself as he finally jumped onto the small uneven hill. Having to use his hand, knees and toes, he climbed. That cave so close now, he could smell its inhabitant.

His digits closed around thorns that stabbed and maimed the poor tortured flesh of his palm, tearing into and through the callouses and blister. He jerked from the sudden pain, leverage leaving in but an instant and he was on his back, the air taken from his lungs with the impact on his back. Stunned, the only thing possible in that moment was to stare into the heavens, a prayer in mind as he willed his body to once more stand again.

Wobbly at the joints, the man took care not to make the same mistake again, his wounds stung with irritating grains of sand grinding the muscles, spreading its filth out among the smears of sanguine fluid with every clench of fist. The noirette approached the darkened burrow, absently injured fingers twitched ever-so-slightly in dull, throbbing agony as they closed around his magical instrument, pulling it from its place and with many lulling huffs he stilled his body and mind, multiple words of power repeating through his mentality, their shadows dancing upon his lips as the runes he drew overlapped one another, impressive beams of pink, green and white to create an elaborate picture.

So quickly did the hibernating beast go from breathing to meat and folded fur. Cedric wonders only briefly if it felt any pain as it was committed unto eternal slumber and utility whilest he packed his new inventory behind a rune of temporary abyss and tucked his wand away to make haste back to the fallen princess.

Unfortunately, it would be too arduous to come back there with Sofia in tow. He would have to make the best of what was available. And he did. That leads both into the here and now, this bush's dry twigs poke into his sides and back most uncomfortably but he can see the girl as she rouses and begins her consumption of his offering.

Can he continue this? Go after the amulet and also keep her from harm?... Could he leave her behind to come what may? That burning in his heart and the knot at his stomach can not lie, his mind at a conclusion he never thought possible before this very moment.

...No.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 4:**

Stupid. What in blazes was he thinking all of a sudden?! That feeling, such a strange thing... What exactly is he supposed to do, jump from this ledge like dirtied, leaf-covered fallen angel and declare a heroic vow to keep the girl safe? That would only leave the delicate little princess choking on odorous game from the surprise and probably kill her in the process.

Should the mage try to climb down from the edge and walk up to her? Then what would he say? 'I've been watching you from behind corners and underbrush like an animal stalking its prey, leaving you bits of food like a loyal pup.' ? No, that just sounds... Creepy, even to Cedric's own mind. So, what choice does that seriously leave? Only one, not an option really.

Brittle twigs stab into his flesh through the ample cloth of his warm robe as the streaked noirette backs deeper into the bushes, further away from that ledge and closer to the ever-nearing path down the other side of this chilly mountainous obstacle. As he gets closer to it, through the obstacles of leaning trees and crawling roots, the man turns and doesn't look back.

His offering should keep the girl going long enough for the king's men to come galloping back this way, scooping her up and pampering Sofia along the ride back to her life of cushioned, hearth-warmed luxury within the castle walls where she will wait like a good little royal for her necklace to return, under the steely, guarded gaze of His Majesty, Roland II.

The birds at his hind stay silent as he makes his way in agitated steps, irritation etched into the lines of his brow as the stars above glitter in the cloud-fogged indigo sky. He can't think of anything but the magnanimous task at hand... Shouldn't, any how.

Bitter wind whips at his flesh as he descends, little by little with the rocks to stabilize his weary form, tired of this trek, sore from the constant activity of the past weeks and even more so from the stationary state he was in before all of this. But, he presses on, so intent on going further, of re-claiming lost miles due to his own fatuity.

The sorcerer huffs, icy, thin wind filling his lungs and freezing them in a way that tortures the throat and makes the chest heavy. Tugging his beloved kerchief-bow from 'round his neck, the mage secures its length over his nose and mouth as best as he can with his one free grip to combat the atmospheric offense pummeling from all sides.

Surely this is the brunt of the blows, the mountain itself shielding that brunette from this, right? Cedric shakes his head frantically, he can't worry about this now! She'll be fine, sleep until morning and then the heat of the sun will make this wind tolerable enough for her travels until the cavalry spots her.

She'll be fine. NO! NO! He doesn't care about that, he's concerned only about the amulet! His shoed steps seem to gain in ferocity the raven's directly behind him note with troubled, rolling, clicking gnarls.

If anything, at least fortune seems to have been borne of this blasting chill. It's brisk, eye-widening and the noirette is awake enough to tread further. The soil beneath his soles crunch as he digs in to push onward, propelling the man forward in swifter strides.

He's trying to outrun the nagging churn in his gut, to work away the hollowing inception within his chest in every stomp that lands in front of the other, to fill and soothe it with the power of Avalor... in time.

All in good time.

O.O.O

Porous boulders and yellowed, grassy patches now line the path of loosening sand, past the tiny rural township at the mount's head. The gusts have not yet slowed as they whip over the sorcerer's icy cartilage, roaring at his drums and drowning out much else. His teeth chatter behind the mask of sunny scarf and his limbs shiver at the hind of his leather-bound spells.

Just a little more. A few steps further.

He is not able to think beyond these words, as if they are a chant making up his being in wrapped written word. The mage can not feel his fingers, legs or toes, arms or other appendages, much like pages of the book at his breast, an extension of it, because surely man is not meant not to feel; to be so numb.

Even so, every stride his feet part for is automatic. As if his physical body is set in resolve, no matter the state of mind. Which, is both a blessing and a curse, for without knowledgeable sense, the streaked noirette is unable to see but the dirt before him and he follows. The large rocks and stones on either side would provide him cover from the excruciating breezes, but he is unaware, subconsciously conscientious of not straying.

Actively not thinking... about the brunette's well-being, or anything else aside from those chanting little words of self-encouragement and direction... Kind of.

"The idiot is going to freeze to death." Wormwood chitters to himself upon upward pulse of his slow wing-beats, having to keep in direct tail of his human in order to stay at his side. The birds flap in tandem for frugal use of the sorcerer's width as he stumbles on.

"Let's stop over there!" Spotting a rather sizable boulder with single beady eye, Slugswamp calls in unexpected response with an ovoid swoop that makes his elder cut back upward in his opposition, creating an aggitated, disjointed figure eight.

"And how are we to do that, smart one?!" The older bird squawks, frazzled at their new formation on his way curving downward.

"Like this!" With a zagging swoop from Cedric's right hip to his left shoulder and another unappreciative caw from Wormwood, the younger fowl pecks at the joint with his beak and then pushes the man with his talons causing a slight shift in the mage's path before the inky beast falls in slant to catch the other's attention. "See?"

"Aye." He won't admit it, to the center of his aerodynamic bones to the tiny beating heart within his thinning breast down, but... The chick is an attentive one at times, with just sense enough to keep this sorcerer alive, long after his own departure. His own upward beat reflects the actions of Slugswamp and the noirette teeters just a little more.

And more.

And even more, until the obstructive device is directly in front of Cedric, hindering the movement of his legs. Slugswamp takes it upon himself to fly into the harsh wind to screech into the man's blank face. Reply is not quick and it takes a sore gullet and a couple of tapping pecks of the young fowl's snoz at the human's brow before the man seems to snap back to the present with a gentle swat and a grumble that doesn't appear to make it out of his throat.

"Hnn!"

How long has he been walking? How close has he gotten to the coast? When did the heavens lighten to shadowed violet? He doesn't know, but what he does is that the bird-brains are complaining and he could possibly spare a few hours of rest, that mountain nothing but a hill in the far distance behind him. Taking a knee, a respite against the ruthless breeze is ample enough to bring back the feeling of prior numb appendages and the exhaustion to finally set in.

There is nothing but tall grass around, but it will have to do. Having to squeeze flex and flatten his hand a few times in order to re-establish some sort of blood flow, he grabs for his trusty magical instrument. At first, it's difficult to think of the right ancient shape, the rune to bring nature together and it's accomplice of shelter, and it takes a bit more pause in order for the noirette to stifle his shaking body so that he can draw them out. But he is finally successful, and the selected grass stills in its sway, the collection swirling above Cedric's head in a harmless tornado that soon collapses into itself. Singular firm, late autumn blades clash, curling around each other, forming knots that lengthen it into thin ropes that then begin to cross and dip, pulling through many strands in a weave that begins to resemble a stiff blanket of wicker.

The ends mystically burrow from the rock's base at it's same height and a few lengths out to create a small open room, cover plenty for the man and his two birds. Another rune brings out and amplifies the minute reflected heat of the moon and Cedric sighs allowing the warmth to soak deep into his bones and thaw his limbs. Jet feathers ruffle contentedly as the ravens settle around the mage when he lay on his side, curled comfortably enough on the grainy ground.

They have got to be close, he absently grips and loosens hold on a handful of sugary floor. There is less wood, less forest vegetation and the -albeit cold- wind smells faintly of salt. This can't just be his imagination.

Granted, he doesn't quite remember the walk clearly up until this point, but these are irrefutable facts, yes? One can not mistake the sea's unique aroma, even after all this time from one trip so long ago. It wasn't a fond memory, but now... Now he hopes that those waves and, if necessary, a passenger ship is close at hand.

A smile tugs in twitches at his sleep soaking face as the crashing waves of oblivion take him under in its darkened tow.

~O~O~O~

Piercing is the call of a falcon as it dives for a rodent among the crags and grass, rousing Sofia to the first rays of rosy-auric light as she stretches and stifles a yawn, the fluffy brown fur sliding from her shoulders. Her slumber was restful and deep and surprisingly, the young woman feels better than she has since she started this search.

She knows that she must think through her actions more thoroughly, one more stunt like that and the Amulet may never get back to Enchancia. She can't count on these random strokes of luck from kind passersby to help all the time,... nor should she.

The brunette is capable, fully forged in the arts of hunt and scavenge, she can identify her own food and medicines... She can survive without handouts, but she is grateful for the generosity and the inspiration to be more aware of herself and the very real dangers that she has plunged right in to.

So, in spite of being close to her destination, the girl will ready herself. This trip has already become longer than she had originally thought, with the looming prospect of needing to head oversea's, to track down a tiny gem in the wide expanse of foreign land. With a palm to the gravel and scattered grass at her side she supports her leaning weight as smaller birds call to each other in melodious, happy tunes.

When she finally reaches the coastline, game will be scarce or at least vastly different to that she's used to as will most herbs and spices. The young woman has no coin, or anything of value for trade, aside from the fur, which was a gift to her so it is naturally off the list of haggle.

People are not like they used to be, when the time of peace was prevalent through all kingdoms in the day of her childhood. They are greedy, always wanting more because others demand more of them. Maybe they were always like that, and she just didn't see it back then, so distracted with open doors and encouraging optimism as she was.

No. No more thinking about the past. It will never come back and nothing will ever be the same, she should just accept the truth and leave nostalgia to the elderly.

The brunette sits up all the way, removing and folding the bear pelt as best she can in order to stuff it into her pouch. It's a snug fit, with the leaf-wrapped left-overs of her pungent dinner, water bladder and her soaps, so the girl will need to remedy that. Crystal blue stares at the bloated pack with a raised brow and a lip being chewed in thought. This just won't do.

O.O.O

An hour past the noonday sun, blistered fingertips and a halter pack weaved from stripped green bark of the trees surrounding her camp, Sofia sighs in contentment. This was more difficult than she thought it was going to be, but it's done and she is finally satisfied with her craft's integrity.

The girl stretches her stiff fingers, lacing and arching them at the knuckles and earning a round of appeasing pops before grabbing her leather satchel, putting its strap over head, under her cloak and across her body. The newly-made storage container's cinctures slip easily on her shoulders and with a little wriggling and pulling her robes of light-furred skin to loop loosely around her arms but it leaves her legs bare.

She shrugs. That shouldn't be too much of an issue since she will be walking soon and that movement will most likely keep her lower body warm. But right now, she has bigger concerns.

Slipping the knife from the wraps at her waist, the brunette continues around the bend ahead, bringing her into a little green clearing. It's narrow, but it has good coverage and small berries still speckling their bushes.

Sofia spreads some branches, climbing and crouching into a little pocket inside of the shrub. Something will come along eventually, to take in a last meal before sleeping away the furious ice of winter, and that something will be hers. With patience, silence and with her knife. She will not waste this life, it will go toward bringing back the necklace that she never meant to steal.

This and the following sacrifices she must make will be her punishment, her penance. If it will take pressure off of Miranda, she would go anywhere, do anything.

Minutes meld into and hour as the young woman waits in this bush, ears perked for telling sounds, orbs trained on the rock, grass, and soil below. She hears it before she sees it and her blade meets its target easily.

As much as she has heard the zipping of flesh and blade, or that scrape and pop of bone and cartilage forced along by metal, its not something she can ever get used to. And when her palm grasps the scruff of fur and pull the animal into her cover, the brunette gasps as her throat burns and eyes cloud instantly with scalding tears.

It's a simple hare, with its thick snow coat of pale grey. She knows clover has been gone for years, but emotions do not work hand in hand with logic and all her breaking heart sees is the similarity of her old friend at the end of her knife.

Sofia bites her quivering lip. She can't be like this right now, even if this animal does have a voice she can't hear, maybe one of jokes that make its friends laugh when they are down and whines of hunger at near constant interval... She should not dwell on whether it has a family or not, or if at one point it treasured a human as much as her dear clover.

The brunette closes watery crystal eyes, tears fall down her cheeks as her lids break that wall and she takes a deep breath, rabbit still hanging limply at the ends of her arms.

Once.

Twice.

Her brows are pinched in concentrated necessity when she opens them again, and she pulls the stained steel from the hare's neck. One more time does she respirate deeply, lips pressing into a tight line to keep them from twitching before she plunges the tip back in beneath the ribs, cutting the lifeless thing from mid to hind.

The woman makes quick work of the fallen innards, being sure to clean the carcass of the acids and bacterium that could ruin either the meat or pelt before tossing it into the pack at her back. And while she waits for her next prize, the girl does her best to clean out the intestines laying at her knees, her hands moving absently as they find other uses for the organs at her disposal.

Few more hours pass, time ticking by in a blur squeals, stabs and ultimately silence. Four chubby rabbits, meat and pelt worth at least something, line the woven basket strapped to her back.

Her skin is covered in a wash of those small animal's life force but she can't cleanse herself lest she waste her drinking water. It makes her uneasy, the tacky crimson paint itches and the thought of it makes her stomach clench, but she forces down the nausea carefully stepping out of the bush.

Muscles screaming their protest of such movement after stiffened inactivity, she limps awkward and bulky out of the brush and back to the path. The new weight shifts strangely, unbalancing her as one inanimate chassis loses its place, falling into another.

She'll get used to it, the brunette has to. There is still quite the way to go and lustrous, rich saffron to guide her through the flaxen emerald of this small wood curving at either side of the gravel ahead on the route that will lead to the oceans. Rocks roll beneath her leather soles, scraping at the terra below while leaves click and fall with a strengthening breeze as Sofia rounds yet another wide arc.

~O~O~O~

Well, over-sleeping was not on the agenda for this day. But in the same breath, neither was hypothermia. In a fortuitous occurrence, strident whinnies and raucous hoof-beats thunder past his little wicker shack, making it shake and rustle and the birds with him inside shriek and flap in surprise waking the drowsy mage with quite the start.

By no means is the noirette's rouse elegant, with legs that are kicking and arms swatting so harshly that he flips onto his stomach and adversely knocks the trio's shelter atop of them, making the early noon that much worse with peck wounds and squawking, pissed off ravens. But when he lifts that stiff, grass-weaved, collapsed hut from his person to examine the source of the ruckus and that oh so familiar insignia gleams among the brilliance of mid-day light, he has already forgotten his startle, the beady little eyes glaring at him from puffed up feathers and the fact that he had nearly soiled himself in the terrifying fog of wake, no... Those noisy steeds and the men commanding them, they are of the king, and soon enough they will find Sofia.

He smiles at this, a real one that bubbles out from the heat welling within his chest. That lost little princess will be whisked from her meager camps, from the lowering weather and long walks to horseback and the safe, thick stone walls of palace awaiting her return. She will be warm, will have food. And when he returns to the castle of Enchancia to claim the throne as his own with power unimaginable to any one sorcerer or fae alike, he might just let her keep her room there.

Maybe.

But, she will be safe and now... Now he can carry on knowing that they will find her in only a few hours and he doesn't need to worry about her well-being.

No, he doesn't care! He just doesn't want to see the lass die is all! Right.

And at this moment, he knows she won't. A pair of crucks and clicks snap the man from his daze and slowly he turns to meet each of their tiny, glassy gazes, so eerily still as the wicker musses the white of his bangs.

"What?"

O.O.O

Only a short few hours of shivering as he walks through nearing ocean breezes and ducking from dive-bombs driven by the birdies whose beauty sleep was sorely interrupted, the noirette happens upon the few scattered cabins of the port city ahead. Such a beautiful sight beneath the clear azure and jade-speckled sands.

Each home is outfitted with seashell artistry to some extent, nets and rusted anchors on others; but that smell, that warmth in the chilly air, the bite of salt and a hint of fish that mix in an unfathomably pleasant way with the crisp, clean aroma of water is what urges the sorcerer further, faster, as quickly as a walking pace will allow.

So close. So incredibly near finding the merchant with all of the information he may need. He keeps going and even though they are still agitated from such rough treatment earlier, they match his stride with the beats of their wings, garbling from their own interpretation of their human's visible excitement.

Domestic shacks that pass in block-set lines grow larger in quantity the deeper into the city he goes; dry-rotted wood growing better in quality until graduating in both stone and size, single room up to multiple stories; the path from sand strewn gravel to cobbled road.

Within view is the first of a peddler's tent, a gathering of bustling bodies and voices calling out for better prices while doors on either side of the streets open at fluctuating intervals, bells ringing in arrivals and departures as small horse and mule drawn carts are being steered down connecting roads taking shoppers back to their homes both to and fro.

The mage's amber orbs are trained on the many signs jutted and hanging from the many storefronts, gently swaying wood depicting the different names of businesses, in some cases the curator as well. This helps quite a bit, but the man is getting a little hungry and his companions are starting to growl in that rolling, gritty unsettling way, in such the decision is made to duck into the nearest alehouse for rations and whatever rumor or gossip he can uncover.

Everything is of value, especially the temperament of his feathered beasties and lip-service. Who knows what, or whom? Where is what, or whom? Incoming land-stays and out-going trades. The man needs it all... and a pint of mead on the side of a good, steaming stew wouldn't hurt, either.

~O~O~O~

Taking that lush brown pelt from her wears hanging at her side had to have been the best move she could have possibly made. The gusts only seemed to keep cooling and her cloak kept blowing from her thinly clothed chest and her legs, though moving and retaining their sensations, were being battered by the stabbing chill.

No more is that an issue with that warm fuzz at her flesh and leather shielding Sofia from the wind. It may be slowing the girl down a touch, momentum basically being thwarted by mother nature herself, but she's at least made it down the mountain's face and into this quaint township of cozy homes, lit from within with candles at their shuttered panes and the odd laughter that sounds, presumably over family meals in progress.

A soft smile paints the brunette's features as she's reminded of her own mother's laughter over left-overs and sop-bread and she stops a moment when she realizes that there is a well here. Her drinking pouch is still mostly full, but the thirst she didn't know she had been denying is turning her tongue as dry as the dirt below and her hands could use a good rinse.

Turning the fetch-wheel, a mildew riddled, rickety pail rises from the shadowy depth among the clunks of collision and cricking of its rope. The young woman unfastens the bucket and within a single swipe grabs the lip-cup at the stone's edge, captures the liquid and tilts. It has an odd taste but is still over-all refreshing and cool, dissolving the tack of her mouth and filling her belly.

She takes another greedy swoop and gulp, enjoying the simple opportunity to see the water she is drinking; to feel it as it coats wind-chapped, rough lips and sweeps away the aridity, making it that much easier to breathe.

Once her thirst is gratified, the brunette uses the small container to drizzle the clear fluid over her hands and forearms, wetting the dry mess enough to loosen it. This takes quite a bit of time and even with thorough rubbing and even more water, that soiled ruby stain is still embedded in the lines of her nails and the crinkles of her palms.

It's good enough, she supposes. Sofia isn't exactly in the most presentable state, with locks having been blown all about, tucked into her hood until even that couldn't stand against the strong gusts, knotted and oiled from her long travel in this chilled weather.

She wouldn't dare bathe in the streams or rivers she had passed, being late fall where soaking naked would freeze and in turn set back her traverse with illness. It's simple, she can't afford to cleanse herself. But that doesn't mean she hasn't wiped away most of her bodily stink when chances arose. A 'wench's wash', she's heard it called in the times she's spent in both her old village and now her home, where Miranda lays her head at night.

The young woman re-ties the rope at the pails handle and plunges it back to the dark, drip echoing depths below, turning on her heel back to the road ahead. Bath's, huh? She had taken the luxury of steaming, fire-heated water and a private barrel for granted for so long growing up, sometimes even refusing when it was just her and her mother in Dunwitty... She was really young, of course, and things were much better than they were when her time at the castle ended.

Then, they had the business and savings left by her father. They had partnerships and friends to count on if things got rough. It was a little difficult at times, but no where near the level the past few years had shown.

Still though, they made it work. Soap water saved in bowls enough for the both of them to use over the mostly needed areas until it no longer held its pleasant aroma and then it was replaced. They hunted and gathered their own food, sold what wouldn't be eaten and tanned skins, to sell the fur and make shoes out of the leather. Fat rendered would serve for their soaps while the herbs and plants gave it that personal female touch.

It would seem like a good profit would come from all this work, but in a town where you both are strangers and lone women with no connections... Your work is not trusted and if it isn't trusted, it is cheap. Meager coins would go for utensils needed to keep their wares flowing and utensils to cook and eat with, or most often for the board in order to stay at their open room at the inn.

But even now, she would give anything to be there again, instead of chasing after her folly. The girl would love to hug her mother rather than walk on legs like aching lead, she'd fall into their near-penniless routine any day, as long as she could be with Miranda again. Instead, she is alone on this road that seems to stretch on longer the closer she gets to the coast's port, no matter how much faster she wills her feet to go.

The impatience is maddening, her mistake is even more infuriating. And now, she must find that Amulet at all costs, before the Commander and his many horses deem too much time has passed. It's a race against time and even now, Sofia doesn't know where she stands.

She's trying her best, giving her everything until that magical amethyst and diamond set is back into the hands of the royalty where it belongs... And then she really will give her all. Anything to keep her mother safe and comfortable in the routine they built.

And when that day comes, when she breathes her last, she will watch over that hard-working woman until the day they reunite in the afterlife.

Cerulean eyes widen as the fog of her daze blows away with the icy wind and the clonking hooves and neighs that it carries. At a run, the brunette stops still, not wanting to believe the sight in front of her.

It's too soon! She doesn't have it yet!

Panic sets in, her fingers give a trembling squeeze at the pelt warming her shivering form, her chest constricts, it's so hard to breathe. The previously welcomed water swishing in her stomach now feels like an unwelcome guest as it swirls sickly at her gut. She's looking for anything, at everything that can save her from the fate galloping toward her amidst the sandstorm they leave in their wake. A fate that would most assuredly lead to her being beheaded and unfinished in her duties.

Those horses are passing over the horizon, closing in at a pace that makes the woman's heart pump fire as her eyes dart from the incoming stampede to the bare surroundings save for rocks, dirt and scattered grassy patches. Suddenly it all clicks into place and her limbs move without a second thought, sideways, at a small boulder's hind, where the fur at her flesh leaves only for a moment while it is thrown over that pack and her head, leather side up.

It's pale and porous enough to pass as a stone, but the girl's breathing is rapid and the distinct lowered oxygen level is making it difficult to calm it. She chances pressing a cheek to the rock at her front, leaving space enough to peek and inhale through as the grains at her shins dig dents in her skin and the muscles of her legs cramp with the forced frozen position.

Sofia can see the bit in the first horse's mouth and the deep black of its pupil; she can see the warped reflection of the darkened heavens above in the armor upon the commander's chest and the familial crest at the banner flapping from its post with every sped trot, almost as if time has decided to stand still while her chest thuds bruises at the brunette's ribs.

She can hear use-raspy calls from the rider of the front as they are repeated through the passing formation in a vocal wave, can see the men as they follow the directives coaxing the beautiful decorated beasts from trot to canter and gallop. She also sees the taupe cloud sway to and fro mid-air with the breezes as the cadence of thunderous hooves begins to fade from her sheltered ears.

Sofia sighs and it's as if setting a prisoner free after a long wait and false accusation, it leaves her in one heavy puff ceding her an empty, frazzled husk of paranoia and 'what if...?'s' The young woman can't move quite yet, her mind still reeling, telling her that there could be a chance that they turn back to scope the land further, that they might choose this open space for camp and that she isn't quite in the clear yet. They are gone from sight, the clamor of the battalion nothing but a dull buzz in the air. But her clenching gut, wide eyes and trembling body won't move.

Her ducts sting and heat trails down the girl's face, she can taste the salt on her sore lips. A choked sob imposes upon her and she can't fight it any longer. She shatters, the tears falling freely as the knowledge that all that she has worked toward up until now could have very well ended in failure. She could have been caught and lying to her mother, sneaking away into the night, being gone so long would have been a waste. She could have died, her mother could have been killed.

The fur falls from her shaking shoulders as she pulls it once more to her chest, needing something to hold, something to anchor her into the present. If it wasn't for this kind gift, she could have become gravely ill, she would have never had cover from those men... Things have been going so well because of these gifts; clean water, food, warmth, sanctuary. If only those people knew her struggles and how much they have actually given.

They have given Sofia hope. They have given her life.

_**A/N: **__Lol! Please don't hate me! I promise you, this IS, in fact a CedFia! But, it will be a slow build, much like life. You don't just see someone after so long without any further knowledge on them and who they actually are and declare your undying love to a person in real life, do you? Yeah, no, not really. So, with that said, it will happen... eventually. :P _

_Oh! All of you lovely Fav/follow/reviewers? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! It means more to me than I could ever describe. This (and another story I'm working on at the same time) is the first time I have EVER posted an 'in-progress' story, I usually just post once everything is done... I was terrified, honestly. But your feedback has kept me typing and calmed my sensitive little nerves. You guys/gals rock! Until next time!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 5:**

Ugh.

The world seems to spin, though his eyes remain shut, only cut by the thunderous pulses and white-hot shocks of pain that beat in his whirling brain. Garbled chitters at either of Cedric's ears only serve to aggravate the ache, so he turns on his side. Immediately, he regrets this decision and the comfort of downy, sponge mattress and soft cotton sheets are lost on the man when his stomach clenches around the remainders of last night's imbibement.

Heavy and abrasive in the back of his tortured throat, the sticky residue only a short time ago so sweet, tasting of honey with the bite of hops now just sits, bitter and acidic at the back of the mage's tongue. He gags but thankfully nothing comes of it.

How had he gotten to this? Oh right. Ship-hands at land-stay celebrating a perilous journey into and back from sea, making it almost impossible to get the answers he wanted. The mage groans as once again he feels the cold yet burning heat bubble from his center and up his esophagus, popping over his tonsils with that sour, rotten bile that treatens to spill with any sudden movements. His lids clench tight and brows lower into a scowling grimace as his own sound resonates in the worse of ways, rattling at his already beaten skull in a way that makes the world tip wrongly and his limbs ache with the paralytic exhaustion rushing through his veins.

At least he has time. If it was one thing he got out of the blushing bar-wench preoccupied with cat-calls of men that smelled of fish- Urp! The noirette gulps down the effect of last night's mead, that particular memory not a pleasant one to the senses. The choppy information she would give between flirts indicated that the man would be away until the morrow and that his storefront is in direct sight of the ocean's waves.

CA-CAW! CA-CAW!

The hung-over sorcerer winces at the sound and hisses at the jolting pain that feel so much like sharp claws digging deep and pulling his mind apart. And after he hisses, the man gags again, the motion of all involved sending his alcohol-soaked stomach for loops.

Slugswamp clicks out his laughter while the older fowl gurgles his own as they both settle further into the blissful padded pillow-nest, eager to rest their wings this day.

Those sailors, those evil men. One would have sufficed, but drink upon drink had been forced upon him, his stew lain forgotten by everyone except his birds who had eyed it hungrily from behind the slats of wood of the window. Thankfully the ravens had taken the hint and scavenged food elsewhere by the time he had stumbled up the creaking stairs and opened the shutters for the cold breeze to soothe the heat that had taken root in his belly, he would have hated the impending assault... Especially with the way he feels now.

This hell, it's far too much to deal with being awake. Sleep is sounding better and better a solution the more his head thumps and room spins. Damned is the torturous golden sun, so he shuts it away with the flip of his lids, allowing the ebony calignosity take him into unconsciousness.

~O~O~O~

She made it. Finally Sofia is here.

The shacks at either side of her pepper out, charming in their seaside appeal as only few scattered houses upon this road turn into whole neighborhoods with their own streets and kids laughing their squealing, early-morning delight.

Never has the brunette seen a more beautiful sunrise, its first rays reflecting off the flitting waves in the sea, making it more luminous, auric and indigo threading across the skyline as the roofs of these homes has marked the light with their alluring silhouettes. She could never put into words the accomplishment, that refreshing burst of energy that came from going from glowing night to building-lined destination.

Her heart speeds, every breath of crisp, cold morning air is invigorating. The pack at her back suddenly feels like nothing and the soreness of her every muscle fade with that feeling and for once, even having walked the whole night through, she wants to run. Sofia wants the salt and freeze against her burning cheeks. She wants to laugh out to the brightening sky, because Mom, she made it here and the girl feels like this one achievement is just the beginning of many more.

The blue-eyed girl will get that amulet!

Quick strides and bear pelt flapping at her sides from its hug against her journey-conditioned body take her from the sand and gravel to solid cobblestone road and the girl nearly tackles the first merchant she sees in her enthusiasm. The man just stares in his overwhelming curiosity at the hand at his wrist and the girl behind it, bent and taking in laborious breaths.

"Miss?" The silver haired man quirks a single, thick salt and pepper brow. "Can I be of help to you?"

Sofia rises, blue eyes meeting faded jade only for a moment before she doubles over once more, trying to calm her nerves and the lungs within her chest. Thankfully the man is kind enough to stay, though the circumstance is a strange one.

"Signor Lapillus..." The girl tries, the name itself airy and huffed. " I'm looking for Signor Lapillus."

"I'm afraid he is accompanying his daughter to her new husband's estate and will not be returning until mid-day tomorrow." The older tradesman watches as the girl visibly slumps, a well-made game cage upon her back filled with lovely specimens. "Would you like to come in and share a spot of morning tea with me? It looks like you've come quite a way."

Once more she looks at the man, his kind smile is infectious and she finds herself accepting the offer with a nod of her head, glad to have some company.

"Right this way, Miss Sofia..." She jerks, but the man is already behind the grains of the door with the tinkle of a brass bell, a hand ushering her into the shop.

The young woman shuffles into the room, the front window affords this store golden pillars of the sun's rays, cut by wooden slats, that stretch along the clean floor and the slated rock that covers it. Fresh, prime cut woodland meat lay in beds of straw grass in weaved baskets and mussels in nets are showcased amongst empty, glittering shells. Pelts of many color and thickness hang strung from the pine-timber and stone wall, blown glass wares line the many shelves, light glinting and bending with its refractors making the shop more luminous, a mass of glorious glowing shapes scattered about the charming vaulted ceiling.

Rustling and creak catch the brunette's attention and she turns on her heel toward that man with the grey-speckled, white hair and amiable simper.

"Mister... Kasapin?" It couldn't be, it's been so long... But how else would this man know her name, so far away from Dunwitty? His grey-green eyes seem to sparkle upon her recognition and he nods and hums before walking past to pull out a chair from the two-seated table near the back, offering the girl's sit.

Time has been kind to him, she muses. The last she saw of him was a year before their leave of Enchancia castle. His mane was a mousy brown then, the same grey streaks, those same jade eyes. Always smiling. Her mother, and father before his passing, used to buy his leather for their shoes and he always gave Sofia sugared treats when she would be the one to pick up the order. The brunette snaps back from her pleasant memory, sees the seat and with a whispered word of thanks, consents.

It takes a little bit, but she complies, folding her own brown fur and replacing it in her satchel then sliding the hind pack from her shoulders to set on the floor. By the time she is done, there is a cup in front of her upon the lined, cherry colored wood, filled with amber liquid and few floating stalks.

She doesn't want to talk about her life and its forbidden to go into detail, so she is relieved when nothing but companionable silence is only broken by sips of the aromatic refreshment. The blue-eyed woman allows the tea to seep into her chilled bones and it resonates, waves of warmth from within thawing her from inside out. How long has it been since she's shared a simple cup of tea with anyone?

Water and the occasional fruit soak have been the common drinks, tea leaves being a rarity in the village's wood in which she lives. It has been a long time and she is enjoying it immensely, Sofia is sure her mother would have liked this, too.

"I'm glad to see you well, Miss." Kasapin, sets his cup down upon the dark wood without so much of a thud. "I heard the rumors, but I dared not believe them. Miranda would do no such thing as to run away."

The brunette sips then sets down her own utensil, eager to listen yet unable to really voice her curiosity. Her orbs must have said what she could not, because the shopkeep chuckles a bit.

"You haven't changed a bit, still as expressive as ever." He sighs, a working-man's hand at his cheek scratching mindfully. "As you well know, I moved business when Anne -gods, bless her soul- said she'd like to live her last by the sea. So, when there was word that you and your mother had fled the kingdom with another man, we knew that could not be true. We saw how your mother loves, with your father and King Roland II. She wouldn't do that. And then, the announcement came whence the new princess was born. We have been worrying about the both of you ever since. It's nice to see you after all of that nonsense. Anne would have loved to see you again."

So that is what has been said about them. King in anguish over the loss of love to another would definite forgive a quick marriage and birth of new royalty. The brunette is speechless. Mad that they would portray her mother in such a light, but understanding in the fact that the king's word is law. It is comforting that this wonderful man and his late wife preserved their memory in such a way, though and in such she smiles through her feelings, picking up her cup once more, to hide behind it's steam and drink down the calming fluid.

"Dear girl, please don't cry! A man's greatest weakness is a woman's tears." Looking comically flustered, he reaches into his overcoat and presents Sofia with a surprisingly clean handkerchief which she takes on impulse, quickly dabbing at her ducts to sweep away the dampness she hadn't noticed fall.

"I'm so sorry." The brunette says upon a humorless laugh. "To cry over such old news. You have my sympathies for the loss of your wife, she was wonderful, beautiful person."

"Aye, she was. But she did not suffer and lived her days until the very last in the sun and ocean waves, breathing the fresh breeze of open sea. Anne did not suffer and that is something I'm thankful for every day that I find myself missin' her."

Glassy green pools scan the floor in silent reprieve, presumably reminiscent before he coughs into his balled palm and cocks his head, grin painted across his features as he points to her wood pack on the stone floor. "Is that for sell, Miss Sofia?"

"Oh!" Startled by the sudden change in subject, the woman scrambles slightly in order to slide the container closer, in better view. "This? Yes, it is. I haven't any coin and figured I should at least bring something for trade. I may need to travel far, you see."

"Has this also to do with why you are looking for Signor Lapillus?" Kasapin quirk's his brow, interest piqued.

"Yes, sir."

"Would this have anything to do with that missing necklace those noisy, foolish soldiers went knocking door-to-door about?" Azure orbs scan a particularly interesting crack in the floorwork as embarrassed heat floods her cheeks at the man's spot-on insinuation. "I take that it's a strong possibility." The amusement in the grey-streaked man's voice cuts her inner tension a fraction and she once again raises her face.

"I've got to fix a mistake I made." The declaration is more for herself than it is confirmation, but the man just nods in understanding.

"And I would love to introduce hare meat and fur, rabbit's feet charms and new coin purses made of genuine bladder. Would ten gold pieces do?"

"Sir?" Sofia gasps. Never in her years in trade of her hunt has she been paid so well, copper in abundance, maybe a silver coin or two... But ten gold? That's unheard of for such a small amount of hare.

"Well, is it a deal?" That twinkle in those friendly jade eyes makes her own well with unshed tears. "You want to do what's right and I just want to help... So let me and stop that weeping, girl, else I give you my socks as well!"

It's the first time since she was a young teenager that she has been overcome with such emotion that she hugged someone. Her skinny arms wrap around the man's neck and she squeezes, shaking from the intense flood of joy, relief and gratefulness at such benevolence. Her thanks comes out in choked little sobs, over and over again. He embraces the woman loosely, a rough palm patting the back of her head.

"It's okay." He doesn't know what the brunette has been through these past few years, nor could he imagine being uprooted as she was. It's all he can do to help this honest and good girl that he's known since toddlerhood. "It's okay. You'll get that Amulet back and you won't have to worry about nothing except for living and loving. I'm sure Anne and your father are watching over you, lass. Never forget that."

Sofia sniffles, her trembling settles in this familiar merchant's arms as his deep tone tells her what he feels to be true. She lets the tone lull her, not thinking and definitely not telling the man that once she sets foot near the palace she will no longer have a life to live.

"Thank you, so much."

~O~O~O~

This is misery. These sleep-squawking birds, the unbearable bright light burning through his useless lids, the thumps of opening customers of the tavern below and the bellows of those sailor men, starting early and continuing the celebration of the night before, complete with squeals of commissioned women and the enthusiasm the rowdy men paid for.

Beneath the bed, the rough floorboards creak in protest to the sorcerer's turns as he huffs and gulps, burying his tousled dome beneath the free pillow to pad and mute all the sounds of his surroundings. The rotating of the room has stopped, but in turn the pounding of his head and the sensitivity of his eyes increased... Let's not mention the contents of his poor stomach that now line the bottom of a shoddy little bucket, a sickly puddle of shame in which he will promptly forget about this instant.

There comes a knock at the room's thin barrier and the sliding of it's latch, Cedric groans at the sounds, but uncovers his head to greet his trespasser.

"Your arrangements, hon! Bread and cheese with a spot of wine." Annoyingly twangy, the woman's voice grates mid-brain and the mage grits his teeth, bangs a-fly and orbs at half-lid. She looks him up and down, the rings around his eyes, the pallor of his features and just shakes her head as she sets the tray at the small table at the door's side before she slips back out and that latch is replaced.

The noirette hates to admit it, to himself and otherwise, that getting up and eating right now would be the best course of action, but he acknowledges it. Though, he doesn't move. In his limbs' stead he moans pitifully, face colliding with the blankets below.

Commotions about awaken the slumbering birds, the youngest of the two more quickly than the older and he is swift to call out his excitement for the nutritious morsels. Wormwood huffs a growling cluck before hopping from the pillow to the drink-woesome noirette's back. His talons dig in gently, or as gently as sharp spikes can, in the inky fowl's attempt at his human's attention before chasing Slugswamp to his pecking crouch at the roll of steaming bread.

"Back off!" Wormwood squawks clamorously among diving swoops at the younger bird. "You ate enough last night, don't you think? Any more and you won't be able to fly, you fat thing!"

"'Ey, I'm just taking a nibble. There'll be enough for 'misery and puke-buckets' over there!" Slugswamp clicks as crumbs make their way down his gullet and he flaps his wings, ripping off a section of the fluffy loaf, dodging the elder raven's trajectory in process.

Wormy stalls mid-dive, thrashing his wings swiftly to avoid running into the plank wall to turn and dash for the food thief whom has made his stay back at the pillow upon the bed. He lands, claws padding heavily along the cotton and glares at the young fowl as he makes a game of tossing the bread up with his beak, then catching it. Growls roll in his ebony throat as his lid slits over the single beaded eye. At the next throw, the soft victual thuds against the older raven's nib.

"That's yours." Slugswamp clicks in amusement at the stunned expression in his father's widened, glassy eye. It's not often that he ever gets to retrieve food for the old croak, but it makes him happy. Much like when he first started flying and found a worm himself. He had been so proud that he just picked it up and brought it back to Wormwood.

That look, proud, thankful, entertained... That warmth of love in his breast bone and the understandable silence that followed as his dad ate his offering. It is a nice memory that he feels should be revisited once in a while.

"Sometimes I wonder about your intelligence, son." Slugswamp doesn't take the words themselves to heart, but he does notice the hint of laughter in his call before the older bird starts pecking at the piece.

Suddenly, there is an obnoxious bump at the floorboards and both raven's puff, hopping back a step. Cedric is no longer on the bed and from their perspective, the ground is moaning. It is not until those palm gloves and twitching fingers pull the miserable sorcerer toward the table and chair that the fowls continue with their lay and eat.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea just to roll off the bed. His head didn't agree and his stomach backed that opinion tenfold, but he is here at the grains of the timber floor and the hope of settled stomach and soothed brain tension lay just a meter away, at the top of a wooden mountain of dining furniture. He can do it, Cedric has to. This feeling is both awful and a bloody nuisance.

Merlin's mushrooms, he could be out gathering gossip! He could be coaxing a friend of that 'Signor' to tell him where most of that man's trades go to so that he may prepare strategy and steel himself for what is ahead. But with every annoyingly pathetic wince and hiss at this unnecessary ailment is another second wasted. The noirette pulls himself forward, one hand and jittering fingers in front of the other. Slowly, the thick legs of the seat inch closer, and he grabs onto it for support. The mage's dome is pulsing with ache, his blood a thunderous rush in his ears, but he forces himself to his knees and ultimately slumps into the cricking chair.

The sweet and buttered smell that wafts from the loaf's steam is enough to make his guts revolt and esophagus clench, along with the aromatic zest of wine that makes his brain buzz in electric shock, Cedric has to take a moment with his cheek to the ridged plank just to adjust.

Few moments pass and with a shaky hand he blindly feels for the warm crust, pinching away a bit enough to place in his torrid, sticky mouth. His tongue recoils, saliva flooding the foreign object as he fights back a heave enough to chew and finally, swallow.

The sorcerer can feel the lump's lazy journey as it slides down his throat and finally as it hits his delicate stomach feeling like a lead weight and he reaches for more. Every bit that he stuffs into his mouth, every piece that makes its end into the man's belly takes just enough of the acidic nausea away, sucking up the remaining alcohol and in turn lessening the rocking currents of migraine beating within his head.

Reaching the last bite, he can finally lift his dome from the table top. The cheddar is next and he finally has an appetite enough to tear into it. Straight teeth sink into the thick morsel, its richness melts along his tongue and coats his throat in the aged, savory flavor. He chews and it sticks to his molars, but he doesn't care because this cheese is possibly the best he's ever had.

The mage chomps and gnaws almost animalistically, more and more until his cheeks can take in no more and his buds are surrounded by this magnificent taste. He swallows some, but cannot clear the lot and grabs for the wine at his side. Lips barely able to close at the cup's edge, he takes a generous swig. That cleansing liquid washes away the desert of dairy slime in a robust wave that seems to whip at his tongue with tang and his sinuses with bite once the residue is gone and he sighs in satisfaction.

He would have said naught but moments ago that he would never imbibe again, but the medicinal properties of this delicious swill is amazing and swift, a balm to the remnants of ache within both his mind and body, clearing the cumbersome exhaust from his very bones. Cedric only allows a single sip more, careful not to over-do it and leaves the rest to his companions whom have since started to watch intently. 

In a flurry of coal, ebony feathers and excitable caws, they spring from the cream colored pillow, wings whooshing, cutting the air in their path to the delicious treat. The noirette vacates his seat and takes a calculated few steps back, small chuckle at his lips as he shakes his head at the scuffle.

"Methinks you both have a problem." He jests, knowing full well the gentle appreciation such creatures have for the fermented juice. Looking on, both older and young dip their bills in tandem and he smiles, allowing a grin to stretch before taking out his trusted wand and letting the rune and mental words cleanse his person of the tavern stench of the night before.

It's refreshing, to be wrapped in nature's elements in such a way. To feel the warmth of his magic trickle through his veins from the top of his scalp to the ends of his fingers and floating toes as it brings forth the moisture of the atmosphere and directs it to his clothes and flesh. It is cool at his skin as it lifts all the grime from him in a rising spray of glimmering dust that fades into the air, the very air that then dries everything back to it's prime state and then places him back onto his own feet.

Now, he is ready.

Putting his wand back into his robe, the sorcerer heads for the door and snaps his fingers, leaving the entry open for his birds to follow. From there, they begin their leave of the tavern and inn with clomping steps down wooden stairs and deft strides through the obnoxious crowd of liquored men and giggling strumpets before they can drag him unwillingly into their stuporous enterprise.

By the time he elbows his way through and out of the swinging barrier, he is out of breath and backs into the cool stone wall as the brisk breeze shuffles bicolored strands and he huffs, trying to rid his head of the second-hand dizziness from the room's noxious aroma.

"Oh!" Once Cedric catches his breath, a closer look at his surroundings brings alarm. "Shit."

Quickly, the man scrambles to re-open the gaudy stained door and out dives his two friends, squawks and pecks of furious appall raining down upon him instantly for his absence of mind and forgetfulness granting many a wandering eyes and snickers from onlookers.

"Alright! ALRIGHT!" Shielding his face, the mage walks blindly in hurry, trying to escape punishment. "Finnigan's fungus, it was an ACCIDENT!"

But they do not stop, they only flap and dive with more conviction, screeching into the morning sky as he manages to follow the cobble at his feet through an awed crowd of whispering and laughing passersby, toward the sea and its crashing waves, the sound nothing but background static compared to the rage voiced by father and son fowls.

"Gah! Stop!"

~O~O~O~

"Thank you, please come again!" Sofia calls from behind the bristles of a broom to the fifth customer of the day.

Fair trade, it is called; made when one person offers what the other needs and the other person gives something to that person of equal value in the common goal of prosperity. In this case, room, board and bath in exchange for servitude in his shop, which the brunette gladly accepted.

With every cleansing sweep of the bristles to the stone of the floor, she can imagine more clearly the feel of water and soap upon her skin. Every time she helps consumers pick out the perfect meat for their dinner or fur for their covers and rugs, she can feel the heat of a good meal resound from her belly and washed cloth upon her flesh. The thoughts make her smile, though simple, it is a luxury and honor not to be taken for granted.

"That girl is such a lovely sight, so helpful, too!" A blonde woman with sleeping babe at her chest comments as a few copper coins fall from her fingers into Kasapin's waiting palm. "She a new hire?"

"No, no dear!" The merchant thinks as he gives the woman a friendly grin. "Sonia is an old family friend that is staying with me until she sickens of the sea, is all."

The brunette pauses her hum and sweep only momentarily, still hating the alias but understanding the necessity. She covers her slight wince with a forced giggle.

"That's right!" Stiffened, dry stalks once more scratch as they brush against the slated surface and she moves from corner to corner, eradicating every speck of hiding dust.

"Mind coming to clean my home, too?" The woman laughs, brown orbs amazed at the accuracy of every stroke before she heads toward the door, new wolf's pelt folded under an arm and child wrapped in the other. Sofia comes to her aid quickly, holding the entrance open for the young mother. "Thank you, kindly! Have a great day you two! And remember... If you want a house to clean..." The woman winks with a smile as she fades from the doorway.

"Haha! Thanks and come again!" The brunette calls out, closing the barrier behind her.

"She's right, you know." The older merchant looks out the large window, gauging the angle of the sun's rays. "Not even five hours and you have made this business a pleasure for everyone, myself included." She chuckles a little, self-conscious at his overly-kind statement.

"Not at all!" The brunette waves a hand in dismissal, leaning against the staff of the broom. "I'm just trying to support prospects of your premium sales."

"Even still, just know that you always have a place in both my home and shop should you ever come through again. That goes for Miranda, as well."

"That would be great." Her simper falters, she replaces it quickly but it is sad... knowing.

"Just think about it, okay? If you and your mother get tired of that small farm village, the offer is on the table." He has probably figured it out, she can tell by the missing light in those jade pools, but she just nods all the same.

He won't talk about what is to come and right now, she won't either. It's best to dream, to keep hope for life alive, even though her future is nothing but grim. The brunette can pretend, she can imagine the ocean breeze and salt of the air as Miranda searches for mussels for night's feast and she can enjoy the feeling it brings, thinking of working in a shop like this instead of peddling their wares on the streets of dust and careless wanderers.

Sofia takes a deep breath and lets it out, directing the utensil in her hands to a lean at the corner of the shop and walking back to the furs displayed on hanging lines. She tugs lightly on one side and then the other, straightening it's presentation before setting off to make some more tea for Mister Kasapin, determined to enjoy this brief memory she gets to make with the company she never thought she would ever get to see again.

The water comes to a boil by the flame of a candle and an ample pinch of the dehydrated leaves in each cup readies the service to be set. She brings the hot kettle to the table with the help of a towel, each cup nestled within the arches of her fingers. He sits as she pours the hot water into his cup and then her own.

It seeps, gaining in color and flavor and she watches as the steam rises in its aromatic, curling dance. She doesn't notice the empathetic sorrow in mister Kasapin's sunken features, and when her orbs dart from the small billow back to her temporary benefactor he hides it, replacing his frown with the cautious cup to his lip, slurping some of the amber liquid.

"Mmm. It's good." That smile is back, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. The young woman notices, but she understands. "Fine job, my dear."

"Thank you for this... Everything, Mister Kasapin."

"Think nothing of it, Sofia." His simper presses into a thin line before it is back, those green pools getting glassy as he fights the emotion from taking over. "I'll always consider you family, girl. You and Miranda are like Anne and my daughters. What is ours is always yours, so please come back here once you've done what you need to. Okay?"

This is not a goodbye. The old merchant will never look at it like that, it will be an eternal promise to meet again, on the other side or otherwise. Gods bless this girl and her mother, shine upon them and take them both into arms of understanding, guide them through man-made darkness and into divine light. Protect Sofia, deliver her from harm. Afford her the means to a happy life and let her escape this, this fate that is brought about by king's law.

"No problem!" Her reply is thick, azure clouded over by a wall of tears she's trying desperately not to shed. "I would love to work with you some more."

The brunette sips at the heated tea, letting the soothing fluid burn its controlled course from pursed lips to waiting tongue and sob-closed throat.

"Ah! The steam!" She giggles at the cover up, wiping at her lids with a finger. "Anyway, what will you do with the influx of meat and skins? You know, I've gotten pretty good at hunting! And you'd have to make a separate section just for the mounds of footware Mom will make. Not to mention soaps and purses made of scrap..."

"Too right, mmm-hmm." He nods vigorously, listening intently.

The day passes on, with chats of future business ventures both know will never come to pass. But they laugh on, liking to think that maybe in another world, in a different life, another dimension... it could be possible. Because dreams are what keeps hope alive and Sofia needs every bit of that that she can get.

_**A/N: **__Soooo... School will be starting soon and with two little ones, one attending and one staying home, I'm afraid updates probably won't be coming as quickly as they have. I'm sorry! STOP THROWING THINGS! lol. But for those of you heading back to school: Have a good year! Be YOU, don't worry about standards set by people that wear/act/look the same (things)! YOU are a wonderful person with a unique view of the world around you. YOU are the ONLY one whom has the thoughts that you do and YOU are the only one with the specific BEAUTY and TALENT that you do. Don't ever let anyone EVER tell you different! Do your very best, challenge yourself and most importantly... ENJOY YOUR YOUTH! Yes, I said it... Because I'm old and I miss being young. ;P_

_Until next time!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of its characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 6:**

"Nnnnnyahhhhhhhh!" Stretching out slumber's stiffness, the mage awakes with a rare smile. For once, the gods have shined down upon him.

Just yesterday, recovering from one of the worst drink-illnesses he had ever faced, he set off. The noirette had gulped down his pride and gone door to door, with only a name on his lips and following the gleaming grey cobble at his booted toes.

The wind had picked up, whipping his limbs in icy splashes of wet breeze, but within only few hours of search and ask, found himself at the correct door, the shop vacant of owner and the plaza empty of onlookers. It seemed too good to be true, which in itself granted a form of suspect.

With a constant eye on his back, the mage drew his mystical twig, slicing the small rune out in the air as his lips hugged the silent word. The lock grated in tooth stinging scrapes as it slid from secure to unhatch and he had grinned, much like he is now.

He was free to search the store at his own leisure, either for amulet or information, birds at his sides looking high and lifting nets and cloths with their impressive breaks as he turned and moved other wares.

Unfortunately, they were unsuccessful in finding the amethyst gem even as the sky grew darker, with tangerine blood and cloud, mirrored in warp upon the choppy ocean's surface, but they had found a book. A very interesting and important tome, come to find out.

'Twas a sales ledger. Pages and pages of record with lines upon lines of curling letters like fine-tuned calligraphy, of dates and items, names and destinations. He had skimmed from the beginning to the very end, the swoops of each pen-stroke creating a intriguing accent to sound in the sorcerer's mind as he read on.

Back pedaling, his tapping fingers had flipped few verso that called out into the silent room with swish as one digit carefully dragged up from every neat row. That is when he had found it. That is when his heart stopped and his lungs drew a chilly breath in cleanse.

That is when he laughed, frightening his still-seeking companions and they squawked and flailed, feathers puffed and wings splayed in displays of intimidation.

"I found it! I know where it is!" His amuse-chopped words had sliced in the dim shop, but he was not filled with alarm, head too full with images of the Amulet's capture and his own kingship that played at dizzying rates, pumping fire through his veins and coaxed more glee from his lips.

From there, it took only moments to take his leave and re-fasten the door. Minutes for his eager strides to take him to the lamp-lit harbor master's tent and few more to find and pay for his passage to the land that now holds the gem that will turn his lowly position of ex-royal sorcerer to King Cedric the Great.

And now, having afforded a grand night's sleep and effectively avoiding the alcoholic brutes of before, the man wakes. Refreshed, invigorated,... ultimately ready to take over these lands and the ones in its surround. For he will unite the world in his name and the people will love and respect and FEAR him.

Hours now, he must wait. But that is okay, for he and his precious inky fowls will eat and ready for the upcoming leave. They will cherish these moments on solid land, waiting patiently whilst aboard that rocking ship for their next meet of land. Because, the amulet will be within grasp.

And it will be his.

~O~O~O~

The time has come, a moment of truth so daunting and exhilarating that she can't even think, just breathe and act as her hands deftly fold the last gorgeously stitched garment and she lays it atop others. The brunette's body is wracked with minute tremors as she gingerly turns to look upon the man that both housed and fed her, the man that gave her this opportunity to work and interact with people as if she was living a normal life.

"I-I am done." Her smile is twitchy. She is both gracious and terrified, cerulean pools widened in shock and tinged with a kind of relief. An expression not to be easily understood from many onlookers, if there is any. Mister Kasapin understands to an extent, those kind jade-lit orbs a mixture of emotions all on their own as he returns her glance, a wavering simper upon his own lips.

"Then you may go, Miss Sofia." The dismissal is both gruff and airy, those eyes narrowing in focus as he puts her image to pleasant memory. "Just remember, dear girl. You are always welcome in my home." Nodding a slow, timid response, the young woman conveys her understanding.

"Once more..." She closes her orbs, quelling the water that began to build in sheets before she breathes deep and opens them again. "Thank you, for everything."

"Be safe, lass and may the divine watch over you." The peppered haired man calls out as she begins her step toward the door that will take her gods only know where. Sofia pauses, a hand to the latch, one last real, bright smile for the merchant before she steps into the open market square.

"And that goes for you, as well." The brunette hears his hollow attempt at a chuckle when she slides through the grain-ridged barrier and sighs, allowing the shake to take to her palms in full, now that she is mostly out of sight.

The cobbled pebbles click against the leather soles of her boots as the high sun cuts the cool of approaching winter considerably. Families and women with their trades and purchases in baskets pass by her going to and fro in blur as sounds fall to nothing but static in place of her own mind and the thoughts pumping through it.

Aye, the girl wants to find that jewel and return it. She wants her mother to live as freely as she can with out fear of capture and murder. She wants to set things right for her king and his new family, for indeed she has wronged them. But she is still scared. Sofia can't help but to wonder how she will make her end.

Will it be a swift, anonymous roadside slaying, deep into the woods where the wildlife will make her limbs their dinner? Will she be taken to the castle in secret, so that she may deliver apology before being beheaded or hanged in the dungeons below the city of Dunwitty?

Will it hurt?

Of course, but for how long? How long will she sit in pain, in regret as her life and faded memories flash before her eyes. How long will she dwell on the past. How long will she suffer, knowing that in her last moments, she can not feel one last hug from her mother, will not hear her say goodbye or taste her cooking. How long will she have to consciously think about the fact that she will never see Miranda's smile or listen to her laugh again.

The brunette's heart is pounding so hard, it's hard to swallow. She can faintly hear the crashing of sea and dock above the racing of thought and imagery. But she walks on, knees trembling and arms tingling, forcing each stride with inner strength. Strength that stabilizes her, a strength that comes from knowing that her sacrifice and amends will at least allow her mother those things.

Miranda will laugh and speak, she will hug her friends and cook and she will eat, overall she WILL survive her daughter's mistake.

Tears make it hard to discern where she is truly heading, but in a blink they fall, clearing her sight from warped colors and light to the unloading vessels and ship-hands, where just a pivot to her right will bring forth the store that is her target and the man of which she must speak.

Sofia stops as the breeze whips around her, cloak flitting about in the wind as azure pools stare vacantly at their destination. Mixed emotions swirl in her breast in fiery blaze and icy blizzard, tying her stomach in knots that tickle in most unpleasant ways.

Swallowing down nausea and breathing deep her resolve, the young woman wills her limbs to swing, one after the other, through the crippling tremors. Through the fear of inevitable reality itself.

It's rough and smooth in the same beat, cold from the air and heavy metal at her palm, but a slide of the bar opens the latch and the weighty wood creaks its open, a bell tinkles along with it giving the sound an aura of finality.

"Benvenuto!" A gruff voice calls over rustling trinkets and fishery wares before his slicked, curly dark mane pops from behind a carved, faded counter. "... Signora...?" He adds when the girl's blank face comes into clear view.

The brunette tries to smile in greeting, but only manages a flickering twitch, azure pools haunted, but locked on to his own honey browns.

"Miss?" Signor Lapillus questions the strange air of the female as she glides forward, absent of mind. Not often does the man do business with such young customers, and it confuses him that she hasn't once looked at the things upon his shelves.

"I..." Sofia tries, but her words die in her throat, making it difficult to speak past the lump more than a thick grit. "I just have some questions I need answered." It's hard to breathe and she can't break away from her gaze.

This merchant represents her death sentence. Her fate, whether she lives on for just a bit longer or passes within the time it takes to travel back all hinges on the answers he will give.

"Si? Yes, how can I help?" What kind of query could possibly grant such an unsettling atmosphere, Lapillus wonders. This girl looks like her favorite pet just got eaten by a shark.

"..." Sofia steels herself, every hair on her journey-worn physique stand on end as her respiration quickens and finally she blinks back the emptiness of her blue depths. "Are you still in possession of an amethyst necklace? It's important to me that I retrieve it and the man I sold it to months back said I could find it here."

"No, mi dispiace." He sighs, a calloused, tan hand runs through raven locks as he addresses the brunette. "As soon as word about it reached mia clientela, it was on the next barca a il deserto di Tangu."

"Who?" Somehow relieved knowing that she has a little longer in this life, enough at least to track down the amulet, the single word question leaves her in an airy puff.

"Tellah-juhro Jo-hahlrah, cara signorina." Lapillus picks up on her relief, the expression that softens her face is one that puts him at ease and the name seems to tumble from him as if they were meant for her. "Mi dispiace, I can not give you any more than that, I'm afraid."

"Signor, you have been more than helpful." Sofia smiles naturally, finally knowing the gem's approximate whereabouts an alleviation to her scattered nerves. "But I do have one more question, if you wouldn't mind answering."

"Vai avanti, miss." Lost in his home tongue, finally he catches himself with a single chuckle and shake of the head. "Go ahead, miss."

"Would you happen to know when the next ship to Tangu will be leaving and where I can secure passage upon that tern?" Renewed hope and apprehension forgotten, the young woman beams brightly, a type of excitement brimming from her words.

"Con somma benignita!" Gruffly the man laughs at her enthusiasm. "You remind me of la mia bambina. By the docks, capitaneria di porto, the harbor master will assist you for a good price."

"Thank you for your help, Signor Lapillus!" The brunette has already spun on her heels, calling her thanks over her shoulder and the once-foreboding barricade is now just an ordinary obstacle that whines and jingles as she pushes her exit, ready to begin. Ready to set things right.

"Non ce bisogno di rinragiarmi!" A grin spreads across his sharp features lilts the farewell his deeply velvet voice calls. "Just go get back your importante gioiello!"

The wood closes in its frame as she slides the latch back into place and faces the azure, aurelian-tinged sky and the water on the horizon flashing the sun's reflection in scattered shapes. Beautiful, beyond the damp-dark docks and towering ships of bent wood and shaped metal fastenings and the milling men pouring from the masses with crates and catch.

Ebb and flow whish and crash against the poles and sides of the ships, clapping its liquid applause as the salt and fish waft in the air. Its not unpleasant as one might think, Sofia muses as she searches for the building where she will pay for her board. Padding in spinning steps, her gaze sweeps from one end of the row to the other. Clicks of cobble turn into thunks of plank at her toes as the ground goes from neatly manufactured to that of the flooring of an obvious working force.

Core twisting and heart skipping a single beat, she sees it. The small edifice standing at timber and water's edge, a single man out in front watching the bustle of sailors as they labor with quill perched on a book spread in the palm of his hand.

He's getting closer, rather, she is getting closer to him. Etchings of concentration upon the man's face becoming unambiguous the more she moves, the bruised bags of an assiduous man evident beneath those downward grey eyes as he scribbles his latest annotation. The brunette can hear his exasperation in the frustrated huff and when he looks up, their orbs meet. He gives a start, having not heard her approach.

"Wha' you think yer doin' sneakin' up on an ol' man like tha', woman!" Careful not to close the page he was writing on, he presses his pen-bearing flat hand at his chest, breath coming in agitated spurts. "Yer gon' make my ticker pop!" The harbor master's brow is set in a forced scowl, for the girl is quite a vista for a man of his standing and he can't quite be mad at such a lovely lady's advance. When she hides her laugh at his shocked actions, even that hard look seems to wash away with the sound like a beautiful melody upon the wind.

"Sorry about that." Sofia clears her throat and straightens her posture as much as possible with the variant weights upon both her hip and back. "But I was told that we could do business."

"If i's bus'ness yer after, you've my ear miss'us." Taking few steps back, the man leans against rickety-looking grains, the wall barely seeming to hold his weight as it sways, cricking and groaning.

"I need to board a ship toward Tangu, Sir." She swallows down comment on his well-being and the state of his shack as her cerulean pools dart from the building and back to him. The harbor master bites and rolls his lips before sucking at his teeth and giving the brunette a stained grin.

"You've 5 silver?" Grey orbs seem to brighten as the words spill, her answer in-wait leaving the giddy man at the edge of his wall-seat.

"I do." Sofia nods, jiggling the satchel at her side which gives a mute, but present, jingle.

"'En you bet'er get packin'. Yer ride leaves 'n hour 'fore dusk." The hand with quill laced through its fingers juts expectantly as he presses the thick tome to his chest. "Though, I don' know 'ow yer plannin' to get back, if you are..."

Sofia's digits rummage past the lip of her pouch and through its contents, feeling for the rough cloth covering hard coins as she soaks in his message. Once it makes impact, her fingers pause at their grasp 'round the little bag and she glances up, a tick in one thin brow.

"Why is that?" The girl queries and he whistles a loud prelude to gruff laughter.

"As I es'pected! A woman like yerse'f wouldn't keep up wif' politic!" Another round of greasy guffaw makes the brunette's face tinge in pink as she chops her cheek to quell her boiling blood. "Tangu n' Enchancia are sev'rin' ties 'til taxation d'mands are met. If not, th'll be war n' th' crown'll be in d'bate."

"So, routes will be cut off soon?" Dread grips at her, once brimming with determination she feels lost as a weight smashes around her ribs making it hard to breathe; caught in a vice of expectation and demand in which she is becoming roped, trapped. The window of opportunity is shutting rapidly, with little to no hope for easy entrance or escape.

"Not soon, doll. This's th' las' of 'em 'til it's settled." At this, the man's yellowed smile fades into a serious and grim line. "My pocket fer 'at foolish king's pride. Won't step down 'til 'e's suff'cating in 'is own gold, 'e won't. 'N taxin' ev'ry body t'boot! 'E don't know a man's gotta eat, 'e doesn't."

She blinks and it is as if the sun is eclipsed in that brief second before she pulls out a single gold coin and places into the harbor master's palm. The girl has no volition but to pursue the spoor given in order to collect her folly. She will find her way back... Some how. The man makes quick work counting the difference from one pouch of money and switching it over to the other at his side before placing the coin in -what is presumably- his share.

Sofia just watches, a nod stuck in lazy bobs as she tries to process the information given. Her world, her plans... They just became infinitely more difficult. She is drowning; drowning in the waters of murky, bleak hope that once she reaches Tangu there will be a gasp of fresh air waiting to be discovered.

~O~O~O~

Running. Oh how he loathes this activity! Not much for the fact that he is out of shape, but... Okay, so, maybe it is because of this. He hates the way his feet pound against the bumpy road, the way those slick little rocks make his stride stumble and the shoots of stabbing pain that washes through his muscles. The way his breath comes and goes with sputtering and heaves that are useless, for the air certainly does not replenish. He hates the bite of cold wind at his amber eyes he has to squint just to see where the hell he is going.

But most of all, he abhors the explosive beat withing his chest, threatening his very mortality if this doesn't end soon.

Women yelp and men holler as he zips past, ravens cawing at his hind in angry cheers as their wings lash at the atmosphere, pounding it in such a way that thwarts the sorcerer's equilibrium, making the man dizzy, nausea clenching vice-like at his innards more forcefully with every clobbering step.

Faintly, over the rushing wind and throbs of both flight and heart, Cedric hears a rumbling call. Barely can he make out the words 'Tangu' and 'last chance,' or some choppy variation that tweaks his thin nerves and he pushes harder, faster. As fast as this physique -without spell- is capable; that thick, precious book to his chest and breeze pushing with all its might against him.

"HOLD IT!" The mage manages to yell between gulps of air as he nears in his haste, a hand reaching out, beseeching the man further than his own voice ever could.

"A'ight, a'ight! 've got ya mate!" A replacement to the man he saw before steps aside, allowing the noirette passage onto the board as he watches Cedric double, huffing just before it.

The sorcerer attempts to right himself, sucking in oxygen in greedy, hungry pulls while his face slowly recovers from the pressure that paints him pink but is unsuccessful as he hunches once more, needing that much more air before he can even think to move tingling, numb, achy limbs that feel much like slosh.

With a muffled snicker, the replacement harbor master asks some neanderthal-dialect translation of 'are you alright?' Smartly, his birds fly off finding perch upon mast and sail while his laborious respire begins to ease and the clamorous blood rushing in loud beats from his slowing heart starts to mute. Cedric nods before standing, a final gasp and sigh release as he shuffles across the boarding plank and onto the waiting vessel, without sparing a word to the man he can barely even understand.

Beneath the mage, the lumber grates, groaning at its nails as the floor itself sways and rocks, throttling his unsteady, lightheaded recovery into a bout of green gags. Valiantly enough, he manages steps in swift-and-stop staggering quadruples until he just can't any longer. He crumbles, collapsing back to crude rail as he hugs the book at his front closely, white-knuckled and pallid face folding over to the fish and mold-growth, odorous deck. His cheek is clammy and drained as it is scratched, becoming familiarized by the splintering surface below.

Never will he sleep in again. He thought he would wake up in an hour, which apparently, turned into two, leaving no time for preparations or walking leisure.

Yes, it may have felt great at the time but being late due to slumberous procrastination caused... this. This sickness that makes his head spin 'round as the world rock in multi-tempo rhythms that his sore and tired mush of body just can't match. His stomach is in his lungs and his lungs are punching the backs of his eye-sockets as the tortured orbs roll around in his pounding skull. This... This is the worst.

~O~O~O~

"... an' o'er here are yer guest accommodations." Middle-aged and widow's peaked, the wavy-haired blonde man swipes work-worn hands toward the curved planks outfitted with shelf-like cots sectioned off by wooden partition walls and open frames. Sofia nods, humming her recognition as they walk along, the ship-hand continues the tour he was nice enough to offer.

The vessel rocks with the waves, more so now since they set off and the roar of the ocean and the flapping of sails can be heard below deck as they follow a narrow hall. From the girl's understanding, supplies are at the open room around the hatch where they took the stairs down, passenger rooms are to the left as the workers' are to the right.

Many a support beam cross and stand at the roof leading to deck and hold floor to floor, giving a very structured and secure feel. Much like the interior of a sturdy cabin with vaulted ceilings and grand colonnades for both presentation and anatomy. It's antiqued ambience is charming, in its own right.

Frame after frame, they pass on either side of the brunette's peripherals, until the narrow hall breaks off into what looks to be recreation space, with two tables at either end, each decked out with die and cards.

"'ight here is where a poor man 'comes rich, and rich cry fer a las' chance!" He startles Sofia with his gusto and laugh, barking out into the sparsely windowed room but she laughs along with him, coaxed by nerves and his undeniably infectious enthusiasm.

"Gambling?" Wanting to make sure, she voices the question smally which she receives a full grin and wink of baby-blue.

"Aye! Think ya got wha' it takes to rake in the fortunes, missy?" They stop in the center, his wide arms and fingertips directing her gaze to both tables, rich, auric dusk illumination casting radience upon them. "I'll even go easy on ya."

"Well then, who am I to turn down such a generous offer." Answering with a mischievous grin of her own, she swipes a stray chestnut lock back behind her ear. "I've been know to clean house with hands as lucky as the stars." And it's true, at least at Royal Preparatory where the up-and-coming kings and queens were unused to not getting there way. Needless to say, they were easy targets.

"Ha ha!" The man gives a shake of flaxen locks and a pull on the lip of his crimson bandanna, chuckling once more. "I think you 'n me are gonna get 'long famously."

Waving her forward he turns, boots thudding against the whining planks below, they match pace; from open room to slender way, no frames in sight just blank, ridged, age-greyed wood. It's a short stretch before another curvaceously square room features another flight of stair but he whirls about, index digits out, bringing attention to two capacities with doors cracked for easy entrance on opposing sides of the corridor.

"'N those are the facilities." Leaning back against the lumber bar of the safety banister, the blonde says this with a sort of odd amusement that makes her cock a brow. "Don't y' worry, lass, they lock an' ev'rything!"

The brunette cricks her view, focusing on the gap that affords her a glimpse inside. From what she can tell, there is a bucket tied in wraps with twine around a wide weight-bearing pillar and what looks like scrapped bed-sheets.

Mortification comes first, drenching her face an embarrassed scarlet, but upon further thinking... It isn't that bad. She's used to doing her business in this fashion, granted, with less privacy. Sofia sighs, relief then flooding her every sense as she realizes she isn't required to hang off the edge of the ship, exposed to all above and marine life below. She is secured to her own devices and honestly, it makes a tad of tension in the girl's shoulder melt away.

The man knocks gingerly at the lumber bar, pushing from it and popping his lips before grabbing and hopping it to land upon a rung on the escalier heading further below. The young woman doesn't quite take that much initiative, as she is wearing skirts, but she does follow the rail around to its open, descending the stair at the blonde's hind.

Crates line either arched port and starboard, stacked neat and knotted expertly. Barrels stand lone in rows behind the steps, strapped to pillars and straight ahead is a cleared way that scales the light spectrum from dim where she stands to bright. Portholes line the roof of this section where the floor just above began in just stair and opened near the end, this is reverse.

Like a moth drawn to flame, the two move toward the multiple pillars of golden light streaming in where a large stretching counter and cooking utensils hang, logs stacked against the walls in pyramids. Sofia notes that there is no one here as they close in, topless crates of potatoes and carrots, bags of grains and rice peaking from behind the preparatory table, but no cook to be found.

"This' ere's the galley. But if I were you, I'd watch yer taste buds. Horace ain't quite th' best at 'is job, if'n ya know what I mean." He's trying to grin through a grimace and the girl can't help but laugh a little. Seems the poor soul has been stuck eating the makings of this mysterious man for a long time. She can't imagine these ingredients becoming anything that bad though...

"Would I be able to help out? I mean, I'm not too bad at cooking and-"

"GODS YES, WOMAN!" His eyes widen as the ship hand yells this, cutting Sofia off and the girl jumps at the sheer volume. At this, the blonde clears his throat, red flushing his cheeks and neck, obviously embarrassed at his outburst, but he's still very eager for some female touch in the kitchen. "I-I mean, sure, tha' sounds reas'nable."

"OY! OY! Who d'ya think y'are givin' guests jobs?" Smooth thunks can be heard from whence the pair came, between the affable and miffed jab, both blonde and brunette pivot to regard the advancing silhouette.

"Why, noth'n but a poor gent with need'a food instead o' shit!" The flaxen-haired sailor barks his response across the berth of the galley in good-humored accuse.

"Y'wound me boy!" A shine-scalped man steps heavily into the dimming glow, a hand to his heart feigning ache.

"Ah-ha! Missy, this 'ere's ol' Horace." The widow-peaked man introduces the ships cook to her with a tongue out in mock disgust and wink. "Surely y' can show 'im a thing'r two 'bout making edible meals?" With an awkward bow, Horace takes her hand in his own meaty palm and kisses the backs of her knuckles.

"Pleased t'make yer acquai'tance, ma'am." Rising, the man narrows his honey eyes, lifting a brow. "Surely you'd like t'watch the sea instead o' being cooped up down 'ere, yeah?" he gives her hand release, screwing his jolly mouth in thought. "Though, can't say I'd mind th' help."

"'E means 'e needs yer 'elp." Sofia receives a gentle elbow to her ribs in jest.

"Reilly, keep tha' up 'n I'll force-feed y'my raw peelin's th'whole way." Horace's black brows crease in irk and Sofia chuckles at the exchange, refreshed at such lively company. Enjoying rivalrous camaraderie she so dearly missed in the lost days of schooling.

"He looks like he will do it, too." The girl hums her caution, formerly-identified sailor, Reilly, fakes anguish with a pouted lip upon his rugged face. He looks ridiculous, so manly, world-weary and handsome in his own way, but the expression just doesn't belong. She has to hide her face when she laughs as a small snort erupts from her otherwise hush fit.

"'Ith th' way 'e cooks, tha' don't sound 'alf bad." Quips the blonde with a finger to his stubbled chin, rubbing it with its tip that makes a scritching with every flicking pass.

"Watch yerself."

"Um, Mister Horace-"

"Jus' Horace, doll. M'not tha' ol' yet."

"I should'a warned y' 'e's a liar."

"Shut yer trap."

"-Any way. Horace, I'd like to help out down here, if it's alright with you. I'm not very good with sitting still, so please feel free to put me to work as you see fit." The brunette smiles at both men, shiny bald and wavy blonde. It makes her nervous as their lips press in a thin line.

"..." Horace and Reilly seem to size the young woman up, amber and sky-like pools narrow in consideration. The silence makes her simper twitch, but she keeps their stare as if it is a challenge.

"..." Sofia fidgets, impatient and skeptical as both the stocky cook and lithe sailor draw up to their full height.

"**As y' wish, missus!**" The unison response baffles the girl and she blinks rapidly, not believing that these two bickery vessel-folk are faux-curtsying. Heat floods her cheeks, she finds herself at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing with lack of response.

"..."

"..."

"Pfft!" Finally breaking the quiet, she snickers and they laugh. "What in the world was that?" Instead of a straight answer, both Horace and Reilly grab a hand in a friendly, cross-hatched, firm shake.

"Welcome aboard, th' Wallowin' Whale, ma'am."

"Aye! Welcome aboard!"

_**A/N:**__ Oh my gosh, typing in a way to capture accents is a killer job. My head is pounding, I'm sure yours is too... I'M SORRY! I have to do it like that or the dialogue won't flow for me! So, shorter chapter than even my short chapters. :/ _  
_But YAY! Cedric and Sofia are aboard the ship, heading for the kingdom of Tangu! :) Gosh, I feel like I pick on Cedric too much... But he is fun to mess with, so it's okay, right? Right! ALRIGHT! _  
_HAHAHAHA! ...Sorry, too much caffeine! Anyway! Good luck to Isiah02 and every one else out there in your back-to-school activities! _

_Until next time, you lovely, lovely readers!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Sofia the First or any of its characters. That right belongs to Disney animations and Craig Gerber.**

**Chapter 7:**

An entire night and half of the day, that is how long it has taken for his mind to match pace with the swaying of the ship's boards and the yells of captain to crew. So, maybe it is time. Time to pick himself up from the wood at his face, to uncurl and find his way to his room, so that he may wallow in his sea green in peace.

Maybe. A hand to the deck, that is all it will take. Just push up, lift and kneel... Stand. Though, picturing it all in his mind does Cedric no good. Action, the mage needs to put the willful thoughts into his limbs, make them move. But they still shake, tremors searching for solid ground as he pats at the timber, steeling himself.

Overhead, the sun is hot and the salty breeze is cold, a mixture that only heightens this ailment as bearings and ropes call in clicks and clanks, the deck itself whining with every heavy footstep and jump. He closes unfocused amber orbs and sighs a pitiful sigh, pushing the heel of his palm into the rough lumber, joints protesting in loosening failure. Like a sick joke, the sorcerer manages to raise enough just to plummet back to the ever-damp wood, its smell of fish and mold, microscopic fungi growing beneath the skin of his cheek within the grain taunting the streaked noirette with its foul jabs.

It feels hopeless, he is unstable, body weakening by the rolling of blue-green waves and the chatter of ship hands. It is constant, the thumping that beats in his head and the creaks of nail and timber that make him grit his teeth; the weight in his belly that is result of knot, twisting his organs into a pulsing, swishing, heavy mush as his flesh burns from day's light and freezes with late autumn's deepening breath; the contrast catapulting the mage without sea-legs into a clammy hell of rotten ocean life and the stench of sweat coming from the perfectly fine men in his surround with their calls muffled by the blood rushing in his ears and the wind roaring its way across him.

"Oy! S'been long 'nuff, yeah?" Both faintly and overly loud, the prostrate mage hears the jumbled jargon spout from somewhere above. He doesn't have the mental capacity to translate into human-speak.

"Nuhhhhhh!" Cedric attempts his response and yet, it doesn't quite come out as eloquent as he hopes. He can't see the man above him, but the ample shadow he provides is both a blessing and curse, propelling the chill and its course through his bones and saving his skin from the intense heat.

"C'mon mate, it's er'bout time you got'acher stacks'n sleep i' off!" Grunting, the man seemingly bends down and before the sorcerer can protest in groans and gags, he is being handled by hot, grabby, meaty mitts and then tossed like a sack of potatoes over the tanned, broad, greasy shoulder. "Up'up ye' go!" This ship hand has the audacity to coo, but the noirette is too busy hanging limply, allowing the blood to rush to his head for he couldn't move even if he were to try.

Somehow beyond the jolting tromps the man takes, the wind and his own life-force settling loudly in his cranium, he hears it. The caws and clicks from somewhere amidst fwopping sail and mast, tell-tale of his feathered comrades' snickers as they watch his suffering and tenderly treatment of this kind, but stinky, brute.

The mage can't watch as the lines and ridges of deck planks race by in pattern, he can't take it along with the constant sway of ship and bounce of this man's steps. But behind his lids the world goes from luminescent red to a calm brown; the oceans swishes and applause at starbird and port go from clamorous to a muted buzz as the ship hand's boots echo with every heavy stomp.

It is almost calming, a balm to his poor mind and clammy, jittering nerves; this darkened corridor that cuts most of the overwhelming sounds and scents, making it more bearable. He could almost kiss this odorific man in gratitude, that is, of course, if he was not certain it would lead to shame in the emptying of his stomach's contents and possible bodily harm due to the events. No, in turn, he only hums his still-unsettled content which earns him a hearty, contained laugh that jiggles him as the guy's shoulders shake.

"'Right," suddenly the ship seems to roll as Cedric's limbs and torso are removed from their sweaty perch and he plummets to scratchy cloth and thin bedding, "sleep'n some'n be 'ere in a jiff ta feed ya."

"Mmm-hmm ehhhhh." The mage isn't sure that was a real response, but then again, he wasn't quite sure what was being said to him, so he just leaves the hum and groan as they are. Apparantly it was good enough for his savior and soon enough, with a grunt of acceptance and the clicks and booms, creaks and cricks the man moves on, leaving the noirette on his own with what silence is afforded beyond the sounds of sea-travel and tern.

One eye opens in flutter, then the other. This small room is lit by a single stream of cylindrical light pouring from the heavens beyond a circular window and just barely he is able to make out the brown sheets in bunch beneath his sprawled form and the knotted, etching grains of wood and individual planks of lumber that make up this tiny room. At his feet, there is what appears to be a table and stool, veiled in shadow only just touched by the glow of porthole.

The sorcerer likes it here. Yes, his coverings may not exactly be the softest and the area not expansive but the differing sounds of the deck above or the cutting of currents and the pummeling of the wind along with yells and gritty call of captain and men do not clobber his ears. Down here, the smell of mold and fish is faint but mostly covered in a must of dried goods and metal, dusting fibers of old rope. It reminds the mage of that cellar almost, a comfort to his drained mind as he settles into the messy fabrics, sways of the ship not affecting him as greatly as when he was above.

Yes, that cellar. It's almost exactly like how it was when he first discovered that gem. A den in which he slaved night and day to perfect his magic, in turn re-inventing himself in the process. Taking a lifetime of spells and process, only to start from scratch. In that musky cellar, the noirette created his way. A way in which proved a perfect match for his bumbling and nervous personality. Couture magic, tailored to fit him like his beloved fingerless gloves.

That place that from within, he researched himself, pinpointing his own flaws, his strengths, searched his soul for an answer which had come so easily.

Yes, this underside cabin will do nicely. Cedric lets loose a yawn that reverberates through his appendages, leaving them tingling and useless as he once more closes his eyes, belly to cot, drifting away into a medicinal sleep; a healing sleep he so desperately needs.

~O~O~O~

More potatoes, more carrots.

Ssshhk, ssshhk.

Peel the skin and not the meat.

Ssshhk, ssshhk.

One after the other, then dice and dump. Wedges of cream and circles of orange fall into seawater at a boil, the little roots sucking in the salt and making it bearable, the carrots sweetening the lot. A stock of which they have slaved over since the very break of day, where light was scarce and candle flames gave them direction.

It was last night that she realized Reilly had not been joking about Horace's cooking, having sipped a stew that both smelled and tasted of the slime and stench of fish skin. Her entire stomach had revolted in the tiny spoonful burning against her tongue but she managed to swallow after multiply backed failed attempts. It fell like lead in her belly, oozing its aroma noxiously up her gullet and back out in breath.

It was terrible, but she couldn't break this man's pride. Instead, she had made suggestion, a smile pasted on the brunette's face because she couldn't trust her own expression otherwise.

"We should boil this down to a sauce." She had said, hoping he would bite," It would make a delicious sauce over rice." It was her polite way of making that taste go away, or at least blend in pleasantly behind the bland grains.

"Y'think so?" His bald head had beads of sweat from the galley's fires, but his eyes sparkled with the lack of complaint.

"I do." The putrid feel of the sludge in her belly was making her voice waver, but she played off the grimace while she readied the rice, leading the above crew's first meal without fail.

Now, the young woman is surrounded by peels to which she is determined to put to good use, Horace is busy searing the flesh of fish with herb and ocean dippage, and the stew is thickening.

These men providing the girl passage are good, they need their energy to work the sails and steer all through the rolling waves of open sea. It is a necessity that she can provide, one of which she can teach to the kindly rotund cook at her side. She will help him on his way to sustenance training. And Sofia will do it in stealth.

"Mmm, that smells absolutely delicious, Mr. Horace." Gathering the ribbons of otherwise discard, the girl stands, pairing knife slicing down the skins in small, narrow slits; some curling some straight before she adds them to the large, bubbling pot and begins again. The shine-scalped man just chuckles, as he flips the fish.

"Jus' Horace, m'dear! I thank y'kindly. 'S nice ta'ave a w'man comp'amentin' me, though." The pan sizzles and smokes, letting off hunger inducing plumes that entice a natural, companionable simper from the girl as she continues with her work, determined not to waste a single vegetable.

"I'm only speaking truth, sir. I love a good fish sprinkled over my soups, it gives it just that much bite." Trying to deftly give the man some pointers camouflaged in compliment, Sofia sincerely hopes he gets the drift. Never boil fish with stock unless you want the dish to taste of mucus and sulfuric marine life. The girl grins as she notes his nod, happy to offer this man the tools to combat the teasing.

Throwing the last strips in, azure gaze on the thin bits as they both sink and float along the rolling bubbles with cubes and angles, cylindrical vegetables and amber tinged broth, she breathes in the warmth, letting it soak into her very bones.

"Right chilled out there th'mornin', yeah?" One fry-braised fish sliding from the cook's spatula to a pile of equally complete meats, Horace grunts the fact with mock shiver, emphasizing his speculation as Sofia grabs a ladle to give a quick stir to the tasty concotion.

"Mmm-hmm." The girl hums as the contents of the metal pot splash and swish. "Though, I had expected it, I was surprised just how cold the wind over water could be."

"Aye, a'know tha's right!" Flat end of his utensil patting thoughtfully atop white meat, the shine-scalped man seems to roar taking the brunette off guard. "Firs' time out n'a barge, ma'am?"

"No, actually. " Calming herself from the momentary startle, the young woman begins once more her stir. "Though, my passages were generally held in the summer months."

Holding in a gasp, she peeks from the corner of her eyes, hoping that she hadn't said too much. She hasn't the constitution any more of a wealthy woman and by far isn't by any means but she can't take the chance of this man catching on to her identity.

Then again, what does it really matter? Other than the fact that King Roland II's men will be in search of her throughout the land and her existence is a probably taboo to those whom love their royal. She is floating upon the ocean to a kingdom that isn't Enchancia. It should not matter, even if it does feel wrong. Heart-stoppingly, breath-hitchingly wrong. Thankfully enough, he hasn't even flinched and Sofia sighs into the rising steam her relief.

If anyone were to unveil her secret, exiled former princess, what would she do? What could she say? Would she have the gall to continue Roland's words? Could she betray her mother in such a way? Could she betray her king? Hasn't she already wronged the man enough? But really... Could she allow her mother's name to be dragged through the mud as an adulteress?

No. They can't know.

She allows the billowing, savory aroma to fill her chest in a single deep pull, cleansing the unsettling thoughts with its heat and then, just as intensely, lets it all go in drawn exhale.

"It's done." Her words come out in an airy trill, like a song meant to tempt Horace to sing with her. "Would you like some help with the de-boning?" Without an answer, the young woman slides around the cook's ample body, setting an empty plate aside for meat, where the bones can sit atop the counter.

"Aye, yeah! 'S a'most done 'ere..." Horace gives flip to one more bass steak, prim achromic flesh sizzling against the metal as it goes from top to bottom with a flick of a thick wrist. "Watch yer fingers, 's hot!" He adds as he peeks over at her concentration-pinched features.

They sting, turning red with every digging, delicate pull that separates flexible needle-like skeleton from edible fluff, juices scorch and scald trails of pink on her palms, but she keeps at it. Determined to provide a boneless bite for every mouth on this ship. This tern and its crew that are working their hardest to bring Sofia closer to the amulet that resides somewhere within the deserts of Tangu.

A healthy crew is a happy crew... And if these are going to be some of her last memories, well the brunette wants to be surrounded with smiles. She wants laughter, she wants appreciation that speaks volumes beyond that of simple word. If that just so happens to be translated in her will to provide a full belly, so be it.

"Y'ain't leave none fer meh!" Horace's surprised exclamation breaks her from her task and out of her thoughts, Sofia chuckles nervously, previously unaware of the mountain of succulently seared crumbs that have been growing in front of her or the spines, fins and heads that had become a vertical graveyard in itself.

"Heh. Surprise~," The girl teases in a small tone, brushing off the unease of being so distracted. "Done!"

"Eh'can see th-"

"'Ey we 'ot a matey tha's be'side'n needs s'm servicin'!" A rich voice bellows from down ship, cutting Horace off with its call.

"Huh?" The brunette did not catch most of what was said and she turns to the portly bald man for clarification with a quirked brow and cocked head to which he laughs.

"Oy, jus' some'n needs ta be fed, s'all!" Stomach bouncing from his muffled chuckles. "Seems a pass'nger 'asn't sealegs a'yet."

"Would you like me to portion the rations for the crew, or should I take a bowl to the passenger?" Sofia asks, wondering which would be the most helpful and not be in the way. These people have been working and living with each other for so long, she doesn't want to put a strain on their methods. That and last night she had done nothing but stand around.

"'Ow 'bout y'go d'liver food ta sicky while I 'andle th'beasts." He had to think it over, spatula scratching at a musing itch upon his temple. "They c'n get vicious wh'n i' comes ta th'r tums."

"It isn't as if they would bite." She jests, a giggle in her throat as she scrounges for a bowl and spoon among both wooden and metal wares, scooping a generous helping of strips and broth, diced roots and carrot before unloading a fist-full of bass atop the soup.

"These'r men, Doll." Horace answers, solemn and serious. Her eyes widen and he holds the expression, face turning beet red from the pressure leaking from him in hissing snickers, bursting moments later in hearty guffaw. "They'll do jus' 'bout an'thin' fer their meat!"

"Ha..." The young woman's orbs are still wide but a smile is plastered upon her face, not really wanting to mull over the heavy insinuations his sentences hold. "Ha ha ha... So... I will take my leave now. If you need me, you know where to find me."

"Alrigh', ma'am!" Dishes clank and thunk as his mitts dig through the cabinetry beneath the counter, getting to work with a swift eager air as the girl pads down the dim corridor.

As the boat sways atop the waves, the wood creaks at its walls, boards cricking beneath her boots with every footfall as it darkens further, calignosity prevalent in contrast to the bright kitchens, as if the galley has stolen the sun's very rays, leaving the cargo, barrels of wine and stair to the night as statement that only food belongs in the heavens' glow.

Her hands are careful, wrapped tenderly 'round this warm, carved bowl. The broth sloshes yet never threatens spill for her gentle fingers secure its station as cautious stride grants easy passage along the companionway as it whines, calling out Sofia's ascent.

Cloak circling around her legs as they press on, she revels in the steam rising, heating her face in the otherwise brisk air, luxuriating in the comfort afforded to her by the simple skins at her back and draping her shoulders. It certainly will be winter soon, more apparent atop the oceans water with the humid, cool wind that sends ice-like breezes throughout the barge's passageways.

Only few more climbing strides bring the young woman to the top of the flight and, gracefully poised, she circles the protective banister beams, nearing the small storage areas and through. From shadowy hall to ray-lit room, its tables filled with men making hushed though serious wager, shuffling cards clicking and die rolling with rapid thuds. Sofia nods at the flashes of glancing orbs, greeting the resting crew silently as her soles crick, beating in mute through the middle of their gamble and past, into the sleeping quarters.

She peeks into each door as she passes, searching cerulean curious, even though she knows at this vantage, she should only check on the right side. Still, she finds the muscled men upon their beds, snoring and wiped from the night's shift somewhat endearing. So, she looks on, passenger accommodations empty up until this point, every constructed partition's frame and ridges passing in blurry lines. But right here, right now, Sofia knows she has found it, at last. The target room, emitting soft groans and unwell grunts. The brunette pauses, wondering whether she should knock to alert the person of her impending entrance or if that sound would just make the poor guest feel worse.

The girl sighs, pressing her chapped pink lips tight before going forth, rounding the timber with an apology at the tip of her tongue.

But when she opens her mouth, the words won't come. This sight, sprawled upon mahogany sheets and pale even beneath the sweet golden light brings with it her dream from weeks ago. The dream that had led her to place the dagger at her side and sleep light.

Though, this man is not just mere imagery and the thought alone loosens her grip upon the wooden bowl in her hands. Almost, she drops it but Sofia catches the steaming container, breaking from blanking daze with a yelp as the hot contents splash at the flesh of her fingers.

Shuffling feet bring the young woman to the small table's top and quickly she sets the food upon it, still reeling, her now free hands fidget, clasped in a writhing sort of grip beneath her small, angular chin.

Slowly, the girl toes closer. Those shut pools of amber hiding behind fanned lashes of ebon, his slumbering huffs lifting platinum bangs and stray raven strands, his lips move intermittently with ill-protest and mumbled, incomprehensible words.

The girl's breath catches, spying the shaking hand that apparently wrestled from its grip reaching out to touch her old friend, her mentor and the very vision that gave her hope so long ago; keeping her going this long, this far into her journey. She flinches, yanking her tips back but relenting almost immediately.

It is her duty, after all. As a helper to the cook, Sofia must wake this mage. The young woman's heart begins to race, pumping furiously a heat through her veins as red paints her features at such vulnerability.

Cool palm slides against clammy cheek and a gasp leaves her when Cedric hums, a smile tugging at his mouth. Impossibly, Sofia's face blazes brighter, silencing his name from voice as her gullet dries, making it difficult to swallow, much less speak. So, she just rubs. Caressing that cool, damp cheek while hoping he will wake, easing into consciousness without start but keeping this pleasant lull that seems to have sapped his discomfort.

Her thumb roams the sorcerer's prominent cheek bone and his lids flutter, still closed but his eyes dart just beneath the surface as his breathing changes rhythm in slight. He is near wake and she... Somehow she managed a kneel without thought, inspecting this man she once knew.

"Mister... Cedric?" The words of his name tumble from her lips, so quiet even she couldn't quite hear it.

It must have been enough, though, for those long lashes of black, like ink against fresh parchment, flicker in short strokes, clouded honeyed brown becoming visible beneath the drawn curtains of sun-kissed ivory and black.

"Hmnnnnn?" Sleepily the sound is breathed, those pools blinking before settling on her own crystalline azure. His body tenses, lungs seizing in the moment realization strikes.

It is as if the world has stopped its spin and the hands of a clock has paused, giving its last tic a reverberating pause. The crashing of water and calls of men both above and below deck and the anthem of wood against nail are nothing but muffled jargon, rushing static falling upon deaf ears. He can't move and she can't speak, both frozen in these seconds.

What does one Enchancian reject say to another upon being reunited? The subject is as sour for him as it is for her, Sofia is sure. She should just do her job, right? Let him know that his food has been delivered and to eat it so that he has something in him aside from salted lungs and empty stomach. But that... That is too impersonal, isn't it? Indifferent words for someone whom gave time to teach her wand-work and magic beyond her wildest imagination, meaningless curt chit-chat for this noirette that showed her that she could be more than a village girl parading as a princess? Cedric had helped to give her a type of power, one that could be wielded even past her days at the castle, as even the king himself discarded her mother and herself as trash... Self worth.

No. Something as detached as that would never suffice, it is decided. Though she is left still grasping for something to say, the girl manages a smile easily, absently.

"Princess Sofia?" Finnigan's fungus, he hasn't the foggiest idea what the hell is going on here. Just seeing the brunette appear in front of him out of the blue... The noirette was so sure she would be heading toward the palace by now! Why is she here? Does that mean that she was left to travel that stretch alone? Through biting wind and barren land? The mage is welling with emotions, a conglomeration he hasn't a name for: guilt, fury, worry, relief... The list goes on and yet, it doesn't matter. The young woman is aboard this vessel and he needs to know why. "What are you doing here?"

Of course, the short answer is simple: the amulet of Avalor. But that doesn't answer how she got past the cavalry nor why she is leaving the land in search for the jewel. Surely such insolence would cause uproar, a war in teeter would have a definitive set. She is, painfully enough, a smart girl... Sofia wouldn't risk her home kingdom, would she?

"Please," Her smile falls into a bitter simper, still amiable yet sad, which confuses the sorcerer to a great enough extent to make him rise from his mattress. "Don't call me by that title..."

"Ugh. Don't tell me you're still on about that nonse-" Brows lowering, the man spits the sentiment before she interrupts.

"No, Mr. Cedric, I'm not. But I beg of you, please... Just... Just Sofia, if you will?" His eye twitches, mouth shutting momentarily before opening for protest in which the girl holds up a single hand, shaking her head and cementing her stance.

"Fine, ...Sofia." With an exasperated sigh, the man grumbles, testing the title-lacking name upon his tongue. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

"I brought your food." Impishly, she giggles throwing a point behind her. "A crew member said that someone was sea-sick and needed it brought. I didn't know you have affliction with motion." The girl speaks quickly, laughing off the subject in hopes the noirette will not press.

"Nnn." He growls shortly, agitated to have been seen in such manner, even more so his points of query going fully unanswered. " No, girl! I mean, what are you doing on this ship? Don't you have a wedding to plan and a new tiara to flounce about in?"

Cedric does not expect her face to fall, is not prepared for the darkness that clouds her depths. His face softens from that of aggravation to type of awkward, concerned confusion; his impulse to stave the tears before they begin thriving within, growing with every deep inhale the young woman takes. He's on edge, rising from his elbows into a proper sit, somehow anxious, anxiety feeding off of the melancholic aura that surrounds the petite princess.

"I'm going after the amulet." So flatly delivered, the mage almost falls as finally she speaks.

Damn it. He knows this! But why?! Why risk this last remaining thread, threatening its constitution with blades at her tips, plucking it as if it were a lute. This thin line between kingdoms, a pact of peace until matters are solved. Why would this girl risk being called a captive of Tangu when select men will attempt to track down that stolen trinket en route to conference?! It makes no sense!

"Right, because it was stolen so you think you must take on the burden of finding it yourself, risking life and limb to come all this way from the castle, sneaking out from beneath daddy's nose-" His sarcastic roll is cut short with a further dulling of those blue orbs.

"I sold it." Its barely even a whisper, void of emotion, void of life. It just hangs there in the air, waiting to be accepted, to be taken and absorbed, indifferent to its fate.

"WHAT?" Cedric can't believe that after all his hard work attempting to just touch the thing the brunette would just sell it to the highest bidder... Much less... for money... and lie about it... This,... This doesn't make any sense! "So, if I'm getting all of this correctly, you sold the necklace and blamed it on a thief?" It sounds absurd to even his own ears.

"No, Mr. Cedric..." Her respiration heightens in hitch, expelling oxygen in sob-steeling, shame filled, shuddering breezes. His head is pounding, aching with the circles of which she is speaking. His stomach is clenching, this befuddled mess churning his gut and tweaking his nerves in vexing trend. He wants her to get on with it, spit it out in clarity instead of riddle before the green of his gills returns to torment the both of them. "I AM the thief."

"Huh?!" That loop proves just too much, he gags, cranium feeling as if it is spanning a compass. Gracelessly, he presses both hands over his filling mouth, acidic bile gnawing, gnashing at his sore throat. The man looks around frantically but his eyes roll, flickering with the motion as his brain throbs, stabbing pulses of white-hot agony straight into his very being. There is not a place where the sorcerer can deposit his embarrassment and with a groan of resolve, he seals his fate.

It takes failed gulp upon failed gulp to push the sour, bitter slime back down his gullet, but he manages with revulsed chills that shake at his hunched spine. Ultimately done, tongue clear of the repugnant stomach content, the noirette gives up his upward position, falling to the sheets in a ball, curling in on himself; pride stripped and humiliation dotting his brow in cold perspiration that glitters golden in the faint streamed glow of the porthole above.

Sofia hasn't a clue what to do. Obviously he was sick beforehand and thus the reason she is here in his quarters in the first place, but to see this sorcerer so... helpless, at the whim of the sea... It shocks her, to say the least. The girl knows she must look pitiful, doing everything in her power to not have to tell this man of her non-standing, but shouldn't she at least be able keep that one shred of respect, dignity... even if it is a farce? Why can't she be allowed to cherish it when he seemingly hasn't caught wind of the aged news? Even still, her hand shakes as she reaches, making contact with the soft velour of the robe at Cedric's back that stiffens at her touch. Gently, she rubs circles and curved paths that run along his column. He deserves better. He deserves the truth.

Slowly, that tension begins to melt away. Her lip quivers as a thick huff escapes the collapsed man.

"Mr. Cedric..." Its difficult to gauge the man's reaction with the sheet of tears burning at her eyes and she can barely give voice to the words forming at her mouth. She tries not to blink, not to let these tears of a fate handed to her from so long ago fall, but she does, and they do. " I'm not a princess any longer."

_**A/N:**__ It's so shoooooooorrrrrrtttt! I'm sorry, but I wanted to get this snappy-typed before the morning nerves hit me again. (Daughter started kindergarten and is gone for more than 2 hours... A whole freaking school day! GAHHHH!) It is hard to go from day-in, day-out caretaker. So hard! Barely have they ever had a babysitter, either... So, you know... If that makes any sense... OKAY! Enough rant-gushing! You awesomely lovely readers take care, okay? This is a heart but will end up looking like a three, but yeah... Here ya go! 3_


	8. NOT A CHAPTER!

My computer decided to no longer load, taking with it the latest chapters of **Stolen **and **Love is Tainted**! I am so sorry! Believe me, I am raging pretty hardcore right now.

I hope to have this problem rectified soon.


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